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<blockquote style="position: relative; padding-left: 55px;"><section><a href="https://masto.ai/users/stavvers/statuses/111600869810001269">Another Angry Woman (stavvers@masto.ai)'s status on Monday, 18-Dec-2023 19:39:54 JST</a><a href="https://masto.ai/@stavvers" title="stavvers@masto.ai"><img src="https://gnusocial.jp/avatar/41495-48-20221127202416.webp" width="48" height="48" alt="Another Angry Woman" style="position: absolute; left: 0; top: 0;">Another Angry Woman</a><div><a href="https://masto.ai/@stavvers/111595620235032319" rel="in-reply-to">in reply to</a></div></section><article><p>scars</p></article><footer><a rel="bookmark" href="https://gnusocial.jp/conversation/1391725#notice-4884197">In conversation</a><time datetime="2023-12-18T19:39:54+09:00" title="Monday, 18-Dec-2023 19:39:54 JST">about a year ago</time> <span>from <span><a href="https://masto.ai/@stavvers/111600869810001269" rel="external" title="Sent from masto.ai via ActivityPub">masto.ai</a></span></span><a href="https://masto.ai/@stavvers/111600869810001269">permalink</a><h4>Attachments</h4><ol><li><label><a rel="external" href="https://gnusocial.jp/attachment/1982454">[the intimate scene in the fanfiction where my lover kisses each of my scars as I whisper what each is from]"Fell down the stairs. Mosquito bite I scratched too much. Cardboard box cut. Burned on a tiki-themed appetizer tray. Mosquito bite I scratched too much. Oven rack. Mosquito bite I scratched too much. Mosquito bite I scratched too much. Mosquito b - "“Her body is a map of scars, hardly an inch unblemished by a reminder of some hardship past: Not knowing the church potluck would be outside. Looking at her phone while on the stairs. Mowing the lawn. She still hasn’t told me how she managed to slit her whole wrist on that cardboard box, but someday when she’s ready to tell me, I’ll be ready to listen.”“My eyes fall on a jagged white line across her palm, which I nearly overlooked. ‘And this one?’ I ask.Her eyes cast away. For a moment, I think she won't speak. Finally, she murmurs, ‘The lid of the toilet tank broke in half but I just stuck the broken lid back on the toilet for weeks. Then one day when I was getting into the shower, the faucet knob broke, and I couldn’t turn the water off and then I hip-checked the toilet tank, and the broken lid fell off and through my hand, and I was naked and bleeding and the water wouldn’t turn off so I just stood there screaming for like five minutes before I could decide what to deal with first.’Slowly, I bend forward and kiss the scar. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I tell her. ‘Just like you.’“</a></label><br><a href="https://s3.masto.ai/media_attachments/files/111/600/866/432/771/357/original/e0e001f64f59af76.png" rel="external">https://s3.masto.ai/media_attachments/files/111/600/866/432/771/357/original/e0e001f64f59af76.png</a></li></ol></footer></blockquote>

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Another Angry Woman (stavvers@masto.ai)'s status on Monday, 18-Dec-2023 19:39:54 JST Another Angry Woman
in reply to
scars
In conversationabout a year ago from masto.aipermalink
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1. [the intimate scene in the fanfiction where my lover kisses each of my scars as I whisper what each is from] "Fell down the stairs. Mosquito bite I scratched too much. Cardboard box cut. Burned on a tiki-themed appetizer tray. Mosquito bite I scratched too much. Oven rack. Mosquito bite I scratched too much. Mosquito bite I scratched too much. Mosquito b - " “Her body is a map of scars, hardly an inch unblemished by a reminder of some hardship past: Not knowing the church potluck would be outside. Looking at her phone while on the stairs. Mowing the lawn. She still hasn’t told me how she managed to slit her whole wrist on that cardboard box, but someday when she’s ready to tell me, I’ll be ready to listen.” “My eyes fall on a jagged white line across her palm, which I nearly overlooked. ‘And this one?’ I ask. Her eyes cast away. For a moment, I think she won't speak. Finally, she murmurs, ‘The lid of the toilet tank broke in half but I just stuck the broken lid back on the toilet for weeks. Then one day when I was getting into the shower, the faucet knob broke, and I couldn’t turn the water off and then I hip-checked the toilet tank, and the broken lid fell off and through my hand, and I was naked and bleeding and the water wouldn’t turn off so I just stood there screaming for like five minutes before I could decide what to deal with first.’ Slowly, I bend forward and kiss the scar. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I tell her. ‘Just like you.’“
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