“My skin is like a baby’s.”
Not that it’s particularly soft. Most of the time my flesh looks like a baby’s who’s just woken up from a nap , faint but noticeable red topography just below the surface. Or, at least, that’s what I’ve always told myself baby’s skin looked like. Vividly remember snippets of helping my aunt take care of newborn cousins, noticing the squiggly red lines all over their bodies and noting, “that is what baby’s skin looks like”.
The bus comes to an abrupt stop and I end up accidentally punching the person in front of me. I smile and apologize and imagine getting into a fight with them and praying for a bloody nose.
happy birthday sam
i called your aunt earlier and we talked about things that remind us of you and how i don’t get as sad anymore until i stop and think about that and you and then i get sadder than ever. she told me things about you i didn’t know and i guess it mostly made me feel really bad. i don’t really know what to say anymore. i don’t know how to fully sort through this ever.
