laugardagur, janúar 06, 2007


She saw it yesterday for the first time. It's always been there: an asymmetrical patch of skin on the back of her neck. Her hair was pinned up, and she happened to turn her head while walking away from a mirror. She had never realized that it was slighty pinker, redder, than the surrounding skin. Of course she had known it was there. It is thinner-feeling, the texture (slightly, very slightly) more crepe-like. It is recessed as if embossed.

All this she knows from having reached behind her neck herself (in thought, perhaps) and from feeling lovers' fingers brush past it.

It is not important, but she wonders why none of them had ever told her of its pale rose color. Was it always too dim to see? Did they think she already knew? Did they not think it was worth commenting on? And really it isn't.

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