Letter #55

I am 45 now, do you still want to see me naked?

I see my inner thigh wobble as I lay on the floor and do Pilates, I see the skin on my neck soften and crease like velvet as I move my head to the side, I see the lines in my forehead that no longer disappear after a frown, I see new moles spread over my torso and I see the thin blue spider veins on my thighs. I don’t know what I am supposed to do with what I see. I just have a deep understanding that I am not supposed to look this way, I can clearly see that I am losing hold on beauty - the gift of beauty that I was once given is about to be taken back.

Whose fucking eyes are those looking at me through my own though? Who has decided that I can never weigh more than 58 kilograms? That I shouldn’t age? That my body is a problem to solve? I stopped modelling at 26, I am a successful artist, and yet I cannot seem to ever completely forget.