15.10
I’m back.
I tried finding happiness elsewhere. I tried to discover the
joy in my body. I tried to ignore my casing and concentrate on the contents.
But I couldn’t do it.
I fell for someone, someone else’s. Their love died before
we met, but I catalysed the decay. My soul tells me that he was built for me,
and that I am moulded for him. We’ll call him Loki. He is mischief and
disorder. Since I told him in December that I love him my heart has burned.
We’ve kissed and I’ve waited and some days I am sure that if I’m good enough,
if I’m patient enough, if I love him enough, he’ll come to me for good and I’ll
keep him like a promise.
But finding something to love in my body hasn’t worked. When
he touches me I recoil. I guess he thinks that I don’t want him to touch me,
but that’s only because I feel so flabby. I like his hands, so why would I let
him lose them in my flesh? My whole carcass is like quicksand.
I found four dresses.
They don’t fit me yet but they will.
I have to lose six inches off my bust and another six off my
waist to fit them.
I will.
I need to stay away from love for just a little while. I
need to send the fire to my muscles and my guts and hope the flames make a
furnace there the way they have in my heart.
