The eyes are the window to the soul, but what if you don’t believe in the soul? At least an open wound can be a window to the body, a cutaway that lets you observe its workings. Here, the bullet in the chamber. Here, the cog in the machine. Here, the pieces that wore away and were never replaced.
Do you envy me, Jenner? Have you ever seen a heart like mine, Forssmann? These wounds produced wonders, but now they are healing, pink and puckered as baby flesh (but perhaps there is something wondrous in that as well.)