(no subject)
i can still remember the change in your hands once you started pulling yourself along all those rocks. their distinct roughness first caught me off guard and then became a sense of comfort to my skin. i found strength in their strength, in their ability to soothe me. i used to rub my fingertips along them, to remember the calluses and chart their changes. i wanted to grow with them, to remember their evolution as a mother holds the hand of her child's progression. i can't take that i still remember them while knowing that the memory is no longer accurate to what they've become. i want them back. all of the distractions i've been building around myself are starting to lose ground and i'm afraid of what i'll have to face once the background starts creeping back into view. being broken takes more strength than holding it together, but i don't know that i have the energy for either.