She looks at her hands,
and realize that she's older.
She counts each calloused finger
like the number of years she has stopped
touching flowers,
or flowing rivers,
or the rush of air outside the car window.
The lines are deeper,
veins darker and more pronounced
like parched land missing rain.
Drifting through a dream
of finish lines, noise, and demands.
In a strange relationship with time,
Drunken nights and half-drunk days,
of semi-amnesia and the self-induced pain,
of daydreaming and waking up wishing to be dreaming,
A thousand and one heartbreaks, ecstasy,
and obsession.
Aching to nurture and mourning unborn children
stretches and push and pulls
sedentariness
To run and not be found.
She looks at her hands,
and realize that she's older.