At first, the two of us need time to get used to each other. You're so clumsy with me.
— I can only feel. And for now, I depend entirely on others.
— Then I drop you. Bruises, cuts... and of course, you cry.
— Without that, I would never learn to protect you or avoid danger. It is important for me to fall. And even more important to get back up and keep going. That is how I learn to trust my own strength.
If no one teaches me otherwise, if no one turns my falls into a drama, I will simply brush myself off and move on.
— Yes. But later, you will forget about me. You will silence me with cigarettes and numb my feelings with alcohol. You will become so accustomed to thinking of me as your servant that you'll forget I have a voice of my own.
And when I try to speak to you, you will ignore me.
And I will endure it.
— Why do we keep smoking and drinking when you know it hurts me?
— Because sometimes I hurt you so I don't have to feel my own pain.
— How do I find my way back to you?
— I don't know. But it seems that things often have to become very bad before we want to reconnect. There is another path, the path of care, but it is chosen far less often.
— And then?
— It depends.
Just don't make me your identity. Don't be too proud of me. You didn't create me.
If you build your sense of self around me, sooner or later I will cease to be a source of pride. And what will remain of you then?
— What is it that you want?
— To be felt.
While you're young, it seems to you that I depend on you.
In the second half of life, the quality of your days will depend on the quality of our relationship in the first.
And then we will part.
Because I was never you. I was your first home. And perhaps the most honest costume you'll wear in this part of the play.
From a conversation with the body. Written by Ksenia, the author behind LOVE.