Barefoot Muscle Memory

Collage of varius Gray's muscle pictures by Mi...
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Do your muscles remember the time Ryan’s buddies held you against the wall while he punched you in the gut? Do they remember the twist in his face when he realized he couldn’t hurt you because you did sit-ups everyday? They must remember how the sneaky bastard waited for you to walk past the blind alley and the hard thump, the sharp bolt of pain, the breath knocked clean from your lungs; they might even remember the sound of that cracked rib.

The body never really lets go of the anguish of past; instead it just twitches some of it out every now and then. It’s like wringing a towel. You can twist it hard and furious, but it’s always going to have some damp in it. If you want it dry, you have to give to the sun.

At some point everything goes to the sun, muscles, bones, the ones we love. Maybe that’s why the body tries to hold onto everything to store it in everyplace it can find; so one day you can remember everything: the first time you mother hugged you, your first barefoot run, your first kiss…

Muscles, muscles, my army of movement, I praise you, I sing your hymn. Without you I am a pile of flesh.  May you be happy, may you be healthy, may you carry my memories, my pain, my pleasure, my very life with ease.

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