It's a palimpsest. It bears the scars and tears of time. And it wears them daily, and it moves in them. The limp of dancing too much too early, the sag of neglect at a young age, the strength of a sprinter, a leaper, a spinner, the graceful bend of a cheek, here, there. And it bears these layers and keeps them, and memorizes them, rewrites them, rescinds them, puts them back. It is the water. It is the sea. It is clay and yet it is its own mountain. My palimpsest. My darling. My enemy. My memory. My life.
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