Today,
I looked at my hands,
And they looked older
Than I remembered
Ever seeing before.
The skin is looser, colder.
The veins underneath,
The surface
Of a thinner flesh,
More visible and pronounced.
Where once the pages
Of this book were blank,
Now I find them
Lined,
With marks,
Where the story of my life
Has already been recorded.
The book is not yet filled,
Far from it.
But here I was
Wondering when
I would be ready
To finish waiting
For my life to begin,
Only to realise
It already had.
©DSCoremans
Yes! Let’s cherish our hands, our faces, because they are our story.