Every Curve Is a Memory I Refuse to Erase

Every Curve Is a Memory I Refuse to Erase

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There are stories etched not in ink or paper, but in the lines of our bodies, in the curves we come to know as part of ourselves. They hold a quiet truth—one that defies perfection, celebrates resilience, and embraces history. Every curve, whether physical, emotional, or metaphorical, is a memory I refuse to erase.

In a world obsessed with symmetry, straight lines, and filters, we are constantly pushed to trim, smooth, and conceal. We are told that the ideal self lies just beyond the next diet, the next product, the next transformation. But there’s something quietly radical about saying no. No, I will not erase this curve. No, I will not forget who I’ve been.

That scar on the side of your hip? It might be from a childhood fall or a surgery that saved your life. That softness in your belly? Perhaps it grew to protect you during times of heartbreak or served as the home of a life once carried. The curve of your spine, the bend in your posture—these are not mistakes. They are stories written in the language of survival.

But curves are not only physical. Some are emotional contours—how we react, how we love, how we break. The softness in the voice when speaking to someone we once loved. The way our hearts dip when we remember something we wish we could relive. These too are curves, shaped by time, by joy, by grief. And they are just as sacred.

To embrace your curves is to reclaim authorship over your own narrative. It’s a declaration that you are not a blank page waiting to be written on, but a full manuscript already rich with texture and depth. Every imperfection, every deviation from the straight line is a lived truth. You do not need to be edited.

Refusing to erase these curves is an act of love. It means holding space for who we were, for the moments that molded us, and for the transformations we’ve undergone—willingly or not. It means choosing to remember rather than rewrite. It means respecting your body, your past, and your present self as whole, even if still in progress.

So, let the world measure itself by flawless silhouettes and erasures. Let it chase ideals that vanish in the morning light. As for me, I will trace every curve with tenderness, knowing that within each lies a memory I refuse to erase.

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