She did not separate tenderness from desire. She did not ask whether her body was sacred or sensual.
The hand that comforted could also hunger. The hips that carried life could also move for joy.
Then language arrived.
With every new word came another boundary. Another expectation. Another version of womanhood.
Perhaps names do more than describe.
Perhaps they divide.
And perhaps what we've spent centuries searching for...
...is the woman we knew before we needed to explain her.