Journal Entry from 16 Sep 2026
It softly rains as I softly write. My pen, often pushed across the page with holy rage. My pen, my exit wound for body stories. Can you pour away all that burned you, all that nearly buried you through art?
I’m in the business because I believe you can.
Nearly a year ago, I dined with an almost-date. A man exactly half my age plus seven years, which is some equation of dating-age-allowance. He—also an artist—was funny, smart and soft in body. Me—draped in a long, flowy dress, my hair following her natural cascades of curls. In the middle of our dinner, an old friend who knew me at the height of my athletic success paused at our table. We hugged. She whispered, Soft looks good on you. I was unsure if she meant the man or my body. It felt like judgment, her body still rocky and square. She leaned into the almost-date man, full-frontal hugged him like a long-lost friend. She may or may not have kissed his cheek. The almost-date turned to me: You should hang out with her more.
I’m in the business believing people usually mean at least two things when they say only one…
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