(trigger warning: bruises)
this post is in no way made with the intent to glorify or romanticize bruises (or the circumstances in which they are inflicted), but I cannot deny that there is something both unsettling and beautiful about them. i feel both uncomfortable yet captivated by the sight of them which in itself is a contrast of light and shade that i often captivates me. i feel uneasy when i can see a bruise forming, yet i long to see the formation and colouration and secretly perhaps a narcissistic part of me is pleased to have one on display. there is something honest, raw and real about bruises and perhaps this is what intrigues me most of all. your skin cannot lie, and whatever the circumstances even if it should and no matter how much you would like it too, it won't. such honesty is a rarity to witness and such bravery is empowering.
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