Strawberry: Ifeelmyself

I let the juice dry on my fingers. I closed my eyes. For thirty seconds, there was nothing else in the universe except the texture of that fruit on my tongue, the acid at the back of my throat, and the quiet, radical act of .

Because no one is.

That is how I used to live in my body, too. Neatly. Quietly. Observing pleasure from a distance rather than diving into the messy center of it. strawberry ifeelmyself

Then, I bit it.

We spend so much time performing pleasure for others—the right face, the right noise, the right amount of enthusiasm. But when you are truly alone, truly with yourself, what does your pleasure sound like? Is it a gasp? A sigh? Silence? I let the juice dry on my fingers