Somewhere across the years, however – sometime during that melancholic and hard and, I suppose, necessary process that we call growing up – most of us lose the ability to make friends with such rapidity and such ease. We became cautious, guarded, reserved.
I sat in front of a mirror last night. I stared at the folds in my skin without judgment, simply observing my body as if it were a work of art hanging in a museum. What does my stomach look like from this angle? What about my arms?