Me, Disappearing

I have lost a part of myself in the last year and a half.

Not feeling, not love, those are always fluctuating, their loss and gain as steady as water lapping the shores of the Cumberland. The same is stress and equally to soothe, equaling the rhythms of desired rest and her will to move. No, no the loss is literal for once.  

To be precise I have lost ten percent of myself.

The internet affords a pictorial trajectory of a body's evolution. The bodies are fellows of the past, some lucky in the present, but past or present most are gaining. Years ago a bone showed, flesh covers it today, flesh and that other word more dimpled and undesired, still filling the first letter with F.

Two-hundred and ten ounces! I say I am trying to dress like a little boy. I start eating flesh and butter; it gets worse. I say I don't know how it happened but I do. I do because I want more gone. More gone than her, as if that would make a difference to anyone other than a slowly disappearing me.