#butterflycut

Butterfly layers: a delicate dance of style and grace🦋✨

For appointment contact us @ 8503095030

We perceive reality even when we dream. You are in an elevator, 4th floor and the doors open, it is night. He speaks about his suffocating pain through the phone and something breaks deep; he can’t hide no more, never again. That’s when you face what you hid before. That‘s what follows inevitably.

One real memory after everything: Tubes of blood lined up in order. “Your veins are too tender... I will have to use the butterfly needle.” Who would have thought? Too tender... I watch the tubes fill up with blood as I pump my empty hand open and close. Again and again. „I remember this feeling“ I say as I pump. But no one is there to agree. The room is empty.

I never returned after that. I stayed. Together with tender veins, and that butterfly needle. Everything stopped somehow. I think back and never imagined to hear a cry like that out of a body so holy. But it happens, it really does, as I think: Come on then? Come to me if that darkness pains you so much... Come...Come, I adore you. I look at my pale skin and imagine how my veins shiver and it is still night, and the elevator lights up blue. It says: Time to go. Now I realize what I hold and I triumph on a little boat in the middle of the raging sea.

We perceive reality even when we dream. Clearly. Because there is no big difference between those two anymore. What we have, and what we will have. There is a saying in my mother tongue: “You’re nothing but skin and bones.” The moment your father takes too long looking at you, squeezing hands of mother. Your hands are so tiny, she says. Yes. And my veins too tender, I say. Things change, as they stay the same.

You learn a lot about people if you are willing to listen. You learn a lot about yourself if you are willing to listen. You starved yourself off of freedom, for so long. Now eat. Eat all of this life that wants you back for once. I open my mouth and eat. I won’t ever starve myself again.I won’t ever lean my heart against cold gates again. I will eat and I will feast because I am tender and I am tiny. Connect lovingly, connect deeply and never let go of what loves you back. So walk away from everything that makes you dark inside. No, don‘t walk. Run! Hurry, hurry and don‘t worry, your shadow will follow as you run, for it has no other home to call it‘s own.

I offer my open hand to time and understand that time takes only when it has something to give in return. There is always more. There is always wholeheartedness. There will always be tenderness towards myself, from myself, for myself. It holds meaning, that only a wafer thin butterfly needle is able to draw my blood.

And the story goes like this: