I love the word ‘willowy’. I immediately see a woman in a long white gown. the woman herself can be any color, but the gown is pure, she might be heading to a picnic. she might be wearing a hat, but there will be a stream and an actual willow. there is no other way, for me.

I am too short to have been willowy at any point in my life. It is also not the province of the overly busomy, I say. We can debate that at leisure, if you are so inclined.

Its the green in the background that completes the willowy woman. I wonder, dearly, what it is that completes me lately.

I’ve been noting the difference between maintenance and pleasure, I’ve uncovered some avoided things, I’ve recognized my penchant for obsessing over a friend’s health. (Someone somewhere needs me, is what that one boiled down to. I MUST SAVE THEM.)

I want to be willowy in the face of my needs. Graceful, sloped. Flowy. I want to be draped on the chaise of my discontent, swooning in my matcha milk bath.


I want to be willowy, damnit.


crop woman in bath in forest
ME! YES! SO LONG!! Photo by Rafaela Lima on

Leave me your words! thoughts! sweat, blood, and tears not really needed but okay, if you want... :)

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