Her Mourning Elegance.
I never expect to see myself in the mirror. People surprise me when they say they have a clear image of themselves in mind. My inner voice, my inner facial expressions are never as I hear or see them reflected. I feel like my body is just a heavy machinery conducted by a tiny lump of conscience inside my head. My conscience doesn’t gave red hair or skin problems or double D or long nails or tattoos. It is transparent and has no borders. That’s why it’s extremely hard for me to make sure I take care of the body properly. I hate combing my hair, that’s why I cut it short. I hate the idea of putting facial masks or hair moisturizer. I would never go to a beauty spa to have my nails done. Hell with the nails, I forget to have a breakfast sometimes, because the only thing I feel is my flaming consciousness, always busy by staring at the world and analyzing it. That’s why I feel alien when I see pictures of glamorous sexy flawlessness. It’s not the teenage insecurity they make me feel, but a deep concern and alienation. And tons of sadness – because I’m never sure who’s missing the point of living – me or them.
Tagged: , self-portrait , eveamber , 365days