What if she just gave you everything? If she allowed you inside of her in a way in which the metaphor is even stronger than the physical manifestation. If she just showed you every point of fragility, every joint worn weak, every bone turned brittle.
It’s often hard to be bare, even though we’re born it. We deviate from so many of our initial notions in an attempt at maturity, such as demanding care with such unabashed fervor that it seems to be nurtured is an essential part of being human. Yet, vulnerability will be difficult for her. To become oneself seemed to mean to build up walls not solely to keep invasion out but to deter those sincerest, most intimate forms of care as well, all for the sake of some structure to lean upon.
But, what if she could break down some of those walls? And she followed your lead, arms out, palms wide, fingers trembling with an almost rudimentary trepidation.