For Emil Cioran with Love

They opened my belly but did not see my soul. Removed a huge fibroid, removed my Fallopian tubes. I had never been aware of their size. I still don’t understand why nature made them so big, thick and long.

For the surgery, they pumped my belly up with gas, to get a better look. The surgeon made four small incisions, avoiding my tattoo. Drains were placed to get the river of blood and fluids out. A second drain was placed inside my bladder.

Now I’m healing, wearing white compression tights, a nurse coming to my house every day to change my bandages. I’m officially sterilized. That brings joy and relief but also sadness, this certainty that a part of my life is over. I never wanted to procreate, but somehow the concept of reproduction as the embodiment of true love was part of my imaginary world.

For Emil Cioran with Love

The multiplication of our kind borders on the obscene; the duty to love them, on the preposterous

Emil Cioran

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