i want to write beautiful words along your wrists like tiny tattoos that never wash clean

i remember watching my mother's hands while driving, beautiful crisp hands and thin wrists i admired. if there was one thing i wanted from my mother was those wrists. i got them in the package of puberty, where i was continually being complimented on my beautiful hands, wrists ignored, but i knew the beauty they held.

in high school, i never noticed wrists. just hair and eyes. in college, i targeted the forgettable features. i went back to the hands. big hands with slender wrists. musician fingers. artist hands. i was always about the artists. they always got an in, even if they weren't interested. longing from afar was something i was more interested in anyways.

it's so much more poetic to lust and to never recieve than to have a fairy tale ending. 
¶ 1:01 PM |