Contrasts in color have always fascinated me. Especially when these contrasts are taking place on bodies.
Take tanlines in the summer for instance, I love the days when the sickly white of my ‘winterlook’ is sharply marked against the crisp golden brown of sunkissed skin. Mostly because I get reaaaally pale when I don’t leave the house (which is most of the time) but tan veeeeery thoroughly when I do get in the sun.
Or take finding yourself in bed with someone, draping your arm over a chest that is an entirely different tone to yours, and marvelling at how someone so different can feel so close to you.
And much in that same line, I have always had a fascination for bruises.
Which is fucking convenient – because I’m definitely the Nathalie Bedingfield of damn bruising.
I. Bruise. Easily.
What’s worse: oftentimes I bruise deeply from…
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