The Art of Living on My Skin

Previously

…It was a reflection of Pip, and Pip finally, truly, loved it. They had mastered the art of living, not by striving for perfection, but by celebrating the beautiful, unruly, utterly unique masterpiece that was their own imperfect existence. And as a final flourish, they reached for a fresh sheet of paper, not for the diary this time, but for a hastily scribbled note to Agnes, which simply read: “Sourdough blob update: it’s now a respectable size and seems to enjoy opera. Want to come over for tea?” The art of living, after all, was best shared.