One day my hands will be beautiful.
I will carry the sorrows and impossible joys,
the woes and dreams,
the true loves and tragedies
that seem too heavy to bear
until my joints crack
and my palms forget
that they had once been light and free. One day my hands will be beautiful.
There will only be a whisper
of the soft skin you once loved to touch.
They will become like the earth,
the story of how I loved and lived
laid out in hills, valleys, and caverns.
