A rough, calloused hand is locked around my heart moving its fingers very slowly so the callouses pull open tiny rips on the heart along all sides. It closes a little bit here, then releases a little bit there, just so I think for a minute that it might stop. I do think that, I think it’s stopped- or that maybe I’ve healed enough. However. A tighter squeeze over halfway healed rips on the heart is a shocking pang. Shocking beyond that? Looking down and seeing that your own hand has callouses filled with maroon pools and maybe even flesh- you realize you’ve been doing this to yourself. I have. 

I don’t know how to not stand directly under the sun that is life and feel fear of a sunburn; but it seems like I should.