Ivory
one.
This is me. Seven years after diagnosis.
All thin limbs and snowy skin. The picture perfect prodigy of porcelain beauty.
But I didn’t see milk and pearls in my skin, silver cells, or the moonlight reflected in my eyes. No shining beacon of health here.
No, what I saw wasn’t beauty. It was deterioration. Corrosion. The wearing and tearing of the human body, skin and soul.
And that man? That’s the man who saved me. Two years from now.
He saw my pallid face, my pasty skin, and ashen lips. And he kissed them. Pale eyes with translucent lids couldn’t hide. A waxen form couldn’t run. He took my vanishing body in his arms and saw the milk and pearls in my skin, the silver cells, and the moonlight in my eyes.
He saw the beauty in the breakdown.
Ivory chips and alabaster smoke.
.
All thin limbs and snowy skin. The picture perfect prodigy of porcelain beauty.
But I didn’t see milk and pearls in my skin, silver cells, or the moonlight reflected in my eyes. No shining beacon of health here.
No, what I saw wasn’t beauty. It was deterioration. Corrosion. The wearing and tearing of the human body, skin and soul.
And that man? That’s the man who saved me. Two years from now.
He saw my pallid face, my pasty skin, and ashen lips. And he kissed them. Pale eyes with translucent lids couldn’t hide. A waxen form couldn’t run. He took my vanishing body in his arms and saw the milk and pearls in my skin, the silver cells, and the moonlight in my eyes.
He saw the beauty in the breakdown.
Ivory chips and alabaster smoke.
.