Sadness - Blog Posts

thisstuffthisstuff

12 years ago

My Hands, Your Lips, Our Eyes.

My hands, you use to say they were perfect.

That I had perfect hands.

I wonder if you even noticed them before you left.

I see my hands everyday, but I never really look at them.

At least I havnt in years. But… Im looking at them now.

Time is showing, the texture is changing.

Fine lines cover my knuckles.

There seems to be more wrinkles where they bend.

They say you can tell someones age by their hands.

I wonder if it’s a fair representation.

I wonder if what my hands where to you, is what your lips are to me.

Soft, pink, plump, warm, delicate, perfect.

I wonder if Id recognize them. If in fact I were to ever see them again.

If we ever see each other again.

Our eyes looked so similar.

Like the same eyes on a different day.

They knew each other so well.

But I wonder if they would recognize each other now? Or later?

Somehow I don’t think so.

A change in shade, hue, fine lines, and wrinkles.

Lines of happiness and pain. Everything in between.

One just as indistinguishable as the other.

I wonder if itd be they cant, or wont want to recognize.

Or maybe theyd wish they had never forgotten.

I keep my head down low

I don't let passion show

I'm ugly and I know

I know I'm inferior