127.5

127.5

I repeat the number in my head.

My body no longer feels like my own. There are vast expanses of myself that are missing.

In the mirror, my stomach is nearly flat. The skin has thinned, and I notice veins visible through my translucent skin. My belly button is back to how it was when I was young - laying at the surface, neither an inny nor an outy.

I run occasionally, up to the park and back. I bought new shorts, flourescent orange, size four, and I can run so fast. I sprint a block, and then realize that I can continue to sprint the remaining two kilometers, slowing only at intersections to scan for traffic.

I do hot yoga in a bra top. My scar stands proud and firm down the middle of my abdomen, pointing along with my arms towards zenith.

127.5

My clothes hang from my body. Shorts fall off of my hips. Each time I come across something that is too large, I stack it in a basket in the top of my closet. The basket overflows.

127.5

Halfway between 130 and 125.