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authorSteph Enders <steph@senders.io>2023-06-26 19:28:40 -0400
committerSteph Enders <steph@senders.io>2023-06-26 19:28:40 -0400
commit8651853a781f114d9d354264d977105b0028e68a (patch)
tree3cac7bccbace6c8fa4b9213bb0b050a0a585e35b /templates
parentba718f82395d98b502b70028ad2b80d54e1ee11a (diff)
Fix about titles and add email in about-her
Diffstat (limited to 'templates')
-rw-r--r--templates/about-her.html6
1 files changed, 5 insertions, 1 deletions
diff --git a/templates/about-her.html b/templates/about-her.html
index 9964e86..02d6803 100644
--- a/templates/about-her.html
+++ b/templates/about-her.html
@@ -1,11 +1,15 @@
<article>
- <h2>About her, the woman in my eye</h2>
+ <h2>Who is the woman in my eye</h2>
<p>
When I was little I would stare into the lights around my room. It would create little spots in my vision; flickering and dancing that would eventually fade away. As they would face every time the every shrinkering flickering dot would become this image of a woman's face. She was beautiful. She captivated me. I would do this constantly growing up. I would stare into my ceiling lights, in the lights coming through my window, anywhere - if it meant I could see her. I would try staring at larger lights hoping that final flickering dot was larger and I would be able to see her more clearly. She stayed with me for most of my childhood. It wasn't until I was around highschool that I lose memory of seeing her. Which makes sense since this was when the lights, in general, faded from my eyes. But who was she?
</p>
<p>
I like to think she was me. She <em>is</em> me.
</p>
+ <p>
+ If you ever wish to share your story or ask a question you can always email me at:
+ <a href="mailto:dear@thewomaninmyeye.org">dear[at]thewomaninmyeye[dot]org</a>
+ </p>
<footer>
<p>Permalink:
<a href="/about-her.html">https://thewomaninmyeye.org/about-her.html</a>