to know

I see the sketch I made and I am reminded of the contours of his muscles and the points of his bones. I remember his eyes, closed in utter silence. I can recall his face more distinctly than that of any friend; it was unchangingly frozen for me while I drew it, and I learned every detail as I bent over his body. I remember the places where skin faded away into leathery muscle, and the places where muscle shredded and left bone. It was skin on one side of the jaw and raw bone on the other, the muscles on half the chest, and the bared clavicle opposite.

As I go over these things in my mind and note this strange familiarity, I realize that I know things about that body that I know of nothing else. I think of what was given for it to be stretched out for us in that way, and I recognize the cost of self-revelation.