Conduit to the world before me, these slender small fingers shape interaction with time. Difficult to guide shaking, I know to expect patiently. These hands aching while laying down curves to letters, refuse to bear an implement correctly.
Much younger and pushing a makeshift soapbox car along the sidewalk, bar slipping and knuckles grating on cement. Aright and dazed, walking to the grass and wiping my hands to reveal blood drenched below. Pain streaming from each and every knuckle over the red shaded sink, mom applying a icy welcome mixture to fading pain. In variation the level of recollection, each finger bearing in form a small portion smoothed in texture to remind me.

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