I've got pretty hands...

"Artists' hands"

Autumn tells me.

Ciera says the same thing.

She used to draw sketches of

My hands when she was bored.

I once had a nail tech tell me

As a young child,

I had the prettiest fingers she'd ever seen.

I honestly don't understand.

My mother's hands are much lovelier-

Full of grace, slender...patient.

My hands grip hard,

Hold on too tight,

Smother

And smolder

People

Prismas

Pastels

And my brushes.

Thomas used to make fun of me for typing too loud.

My hands just...play.

I can do nothing else.

I suppose they fidget.

They love to be held.

Thomas used to love to hold my hands.

Now, they grasp the handle of my morning coffee

In a lonely way...

There is a feebleness to my hands

That I'm sure no one has noticed.

When I'm around him,

They fall often limp into my lap...

Or they hold tight

Things to my stomach-

My laptop,

My books...

My...scarf becomes armor,

If that's all I have.

They fiddle and write to release energy.

Today,

I was playing in my new letter box.

I'd had an hour off so I pounced

Leaves all the way down Richland.

I then made my way to the library...

I noticed someone walking towards me,

But I didn't glance up until it was too late-

Involuntarily

My body shot up the hill.

I had to restrain myself from breaking into a run.

My hands held my letter box tight.

I distracted myself by saying hello to Jamie.

I never thought I'd physically run away from someone I love so much...

But time has just made it worse, not better.

I can't face him anymore.

The pain has gotten worse.

Not better.

So, I got sick to my stomach,

And sat down to write this.

I noticed my hands and

I thought I'd compose...

Autumn says my hands are beautiful,

And if Thomas won't love them anymore-

At least

She does.