Tuesday, June 28, 2005




N came over for the last time before the move (me tomorrow, her Thursday). She wanted to see my stomach. She cried a little and kissed each of my four scars, where the instruments went in.

Over the past several years I've felt self-conscious about my ever-expanding waistline ("Trouser/Waist 36" isn't even accurate anymore). But N would always say that she loved my stomach, the size of it. It seemed like the center of her affection for me. She would stroke it and kiss it as if I were expecting.

Is it too on-the-nose to say that I feel wounded?

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