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Strewn, it was the only word for it, pieces throw about, fragments of something larger, perfect sure but not anymore
I mean, once, once they were perfect, designed to show me what I could be if only I tried harder, worked out more, was more genetically blessed, the perfect legs, the perfect butt, perfect breasts.
Maybe that was the point, a reminder that we are all all just pieces, our whole nothing more than a series of judgements, by other, by ourselves, fragments we piece together to try to make them more than they are, something perfect, something at least acceptable.