Letter To My Hands

Dear Hands,
​
Hello hands of mine, 
It's been a while, hasn't it?
I mean, I wake up with you every morning, and go to bed with you every night... but something in our relationship has been... strained, unacknowledged, missing. 
I neglected you, dear hands of mine... I was tempted by my feet to walk around in new surroundings! In cobblestone streets, in ancient ruins, in hotel lobbies. I was lured by my lips to talk to strangers, to taste new foods, to laugh in delight. I was fueled in my travels to explore, to enrich, to immerse myself... Words were owned by my lips, and my ears. Jewels were enjoyed through glass boxes in museums. Art was something to LOOK at, not something to MAKE. I neglected you along the way, dear hands.

Alas, you never left me. You are as loyal as it comes, you hold my head up right this moment, you type in the keyboard right this second, you breathe new life in me with your delicate ideas. You draw me in to my inner life to write, to write, to write... and to my sculptural life to sculpt, and shape, and tangle... You hold no resentment, no bitterness for our time spent apart... no, you are simply there. Always grateful, always open, always inviting. 

Shall we go make pretty art together, dear little hands of mine? 
I think, yes, we shall.
You've waited long enough.

Love, 
Yours body, your heart, your vessel.