by Camilla Kønig
Every body has its scars and its bumps.
However, they are not merely marks; they are memories. Memories of moments in life – moments that define me.
The scars on my inner thighs define the many times I have eaten unhealthily on late afternoons, with most wonderful people around me.
They mark the times my body has barely been able to hold together, because the company and cherish of the moments have been greater than my worry for my appearance to others.
The small scars on my legs are witnesses of the times I have been too busy whilst shaving my legs, because I spent too long dancing around, to bother with actually getting ready for the party.
The small scars on my hands I use to remember the times of being a child, and being too busy catching butterflies, to take a moment to stop and worry about the small wounds that have appeared.
You may look at my body and see nothing but a lot of marks and imperfections, but I see memories of a life well lived.
My body is the timeline of an unfinished story, and I am looking forward to writing more.