another quarantine story

It was under drops of warm water where I realised,
I am half fiction, half truth.

That I am embodied
made of bones and muscles
a heart and a brain
and loads and loads of nerves, holding me in one.

But also, partly so untouchable, so invisible
and mysterious to my own self.
do you know that part of you?

We are embodied stories.
we are a mix of moving organs and layers of imagination.

Our stories need a narrative
a character and perhaps more characters
our stories need an audience
a playground.
and like every story
constant transformations.
without which there is no life.

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