Cut Wounds

Something sharp has passed through your skin. A blade, a shard of glass, a knife that slipped. Perhaps it was an accident — a moment of inattention while cutting vegetables, handling tools, dealing with something broken. Perhaps it was something else: a deliberate cut you made to yourself because no other way seemed left. In both cases, the basic fact is the same: what was meant to protect has been opened. Your skin — the fine, resilient boundary between you and the world — has been severed.

A cut wound is more than an injury to tissue. It is a tear in the shell that holds you together. Skin is not merely an organ — it is your first answer to the question of where you end and where the world begins. When this boundary is suddenly breached, something happens that the body registers as an exceptional state — and that the soul mirrors in its own language.