Someday your hands will be old and wrinkled, the skin spotted and bunching over your knuckles. And a child will watch you make something. It's a simple task, you'll have done it a thousand times before. But to that child, the smooth, confident way your hands move will seem like impossible magic. You have to keep living.
prev these tags have me crying. this is absolutely what it's all about
prev this is the best poem I've read today. crying again
Your post came across my dash at the right time for us both to feel things today, thank you 💖
Hers and mine.
