In the quiet hum of the morning, as sunlight filters through curtains and gently touches every corner, I ponder the curious kinship between our homes and bodies. Both, it seems, are sanctuaries where the essence of our being unfolds.
Our bodies, like homes, house the stories of our existence. The creaks and whispers in an old house parallel the sighs and laughter lines etched on our faces. Just as walls encase the warmth within, our skin envelops the pulsating rhythm of life. The windows, our eyes, open to the world, mirroring the soul’s gaze into the vast expanse of possibilities.
As rooms hold memories, our organs cradle the echoes of experiences. The heart, a hearth, blazing with passion and flickering with vulnerability. The lungs, expansive as an open floor plan, inhaling life’s breaths. Veins, like plumbing, coursing through corridors, delivering life’s elixir.
In the quietude of our homes, we find solace, just as the body seeks rest in the stillness of sleep. And just as we meticulously arrange our living spaces, so do we care for the temple of our bodies. The symbiosis between home and body is an intricate dance of shelter and self, a testament to the beauty of existence tucked within the walls of flesh and brick.
Modigliani “Nude Reclining from the Back”
~Kateri
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