When I look at my hands, I see you. I do not see the lines in my palms, I see your eyes. I do not see the bones in my fingers, I see your mouth. I do not see my fingernails, I see your embrace. I cannot look at my hands anymore, because then I see you.

You are the callouses in my hands, and the wrinkles in my eyes. You are the pain I feel when I fall down, and you are the hand that pulls me up again. You are my hope, and my hopelessness.

You are the blood in my brain, my heart, and my toes and my nose. You are the chemicals in my medication; you are what makes my pulse silent.


The news channel is similar to you. Always changing negatively. If I was ice, you were the flickering flame. You are the echoing scream to my bare whisper. A kiss upon you would burn my lips and make my insides shake. You flew past me like a hurricane, and I was the diminished remains.

Your eyes were always bouncy. Bouncing, bouncing, bouncing from me, to the corner of your mind, and to the back of your brother’s. I never knew where you were, exactly, and I never knew who you acted like.

Could it be that my adoration for you was a fable, a hoax, an extremity? Did I make up the deep emotion I may have felt? Did I waste the absolute feeling of a sorrowful craving for your attention? Apparently so.

You are like a safety pin. You hold me together, but prick me if I pull you too hard towards me. I remember peeling back the layer you so rarely let me view, it was the nice you. It was the you without the sunscreen, the tender, pale skin that no one can catch a peek of. And every time I got to that part of you, I would flinch and then you recoiled. That is the moment when you would push me away and no longer hold me together. And that’s when I needed my safety pin the most.