My body is mine, but not all mine. It belongs to everyone who touched it, It’s a fountain for future lives that could exist, It’s a soft playground changing shapes at any moment, It’s an uncertainty that may collapse in a flash. It is like a memory pillow, always remembering the marks left by the last person who lied a finger on it, while slowly rebounding and forgetting. As something soft and warm, It is constantly squeezed, claimed, and demanded. It’s sometimes angry, but is always seen as a tease that can not cause harm.