Apart of me

These hands.

These hands have seen only 20 years, but they're already rough with experience. Cracked with weather and time, no longer young. They used to know of innocence and felt smooth, tender without pain. But these hands aren't those hands anymore.

They've seen, felt, and experienced more than lines can write about, or an artist can put on a canvas. They've played, danced, created, held, and loved all the along their lifetime.

They're imperfect. Wishful thinking can only change what they've seen. But I wouldn't take back a single moment of what they went through. From my fingertips to the bony knuckles, to the insides of the lines of my hands, to the narrow wrist that holds them they've been through a world of time and space.

In another time, they've wiped away tears from a scrape, they've covered my eyes when I was scared, they've dirtied themselves from making mud pies, and they've reached out to mommy when walking anywhere or grabbing for daddy's pocket because they wanted to belong somewhere safe. They didn't know much then, only smiles and a sense of dependency on those around.

In another time, they locked hands with a first kiss, they wiped away tears from a hurting friend's eyes, they've taken exams and tests, they've created art, and they've dried themselves up with chalk from endless routines on the uneven bars. They knew of some pain, they knew more, and they saw some experience then.

And in another time, they started growing up and finding some sort of an identity. They found new hands to hold and to love for a time. They found a better way to hug and to love. They were excluded and hurt, disappointed and ashamed. They were successful and creative, brave and independent. Callousing more with time, more with experience, more with heart break, and more with dreaming.

By now they've seen a lifetime plus, worn but ready for more.

I used to hate these hands. They were once ugly to me.
But I'm learning to love these hands, they've seen a lot. Provided more works than I can even remember. They were created specifically for me, created purposefully for me. All my worship has existed with them and they've loved beyond reason for those I cannot live without.

They are designed. Created for purpose and reason. Although worn by time and experience, these hands were trained for battle. Through pain and fears, they grew strong and developed, beautifully so.

These are my hands.