I was starting to read a new book I picked up today (Boy, Snow, Bird by Helen Oyeyemi) and I noticed my arm. I had just read the first few sentences and my eyes happened to drift down where I saw long serpentine veins traveling nearly the whole length of my inner arm from my wrist to the crook of my arm. The bulging meanderings feeling way too casual and indirect— criss-crossing, zig-zagging, taking their time.
Their snaking felt pulsing, vibrant, vital and utterly complex and mysterious. A fully dimensional map under my skin pushing its way through. Vascular messages aesthetically strolling my inner arm.