Unlearn

By Ella Hilderbrand

We all have them. A pair. Ten fingers, two palms. Knuckles that can bruise and calluses that can form. Veins

that supply blood to the flow of our souls. Hands express, create, hurt, and scar. They’re a reminder of half

of what you are. Hands can conflict, or heal. They can pray, or shake a fist out at the nearest thing.

Hands.

They’ve scared me since I was a kid. I look at my own not recognising what to do with them. You never

know what they will do next. Whether someone will stroke your hair with them, or rip it out of your head.

You don’t know what someone’s hands have done. Whether they’ve bruised or loved.

Hands.

The most used part of us outside of our minds and hearts. A tricky thing to master when they’re dealing

cards. Or writing the twisted fates of others, or gripping the steering wheel as you slam on the breaks of a

car. Every scratch that burns you never knew was there, like a false memory unlocked.

Hands.

The ones we hold or push off of us. The ones you learn to trust or learn to no longer want. We use them as

a greeting, or to hold onto something fleeting. We hold the backs of the ones we love just to keep them

closer one more time. One more second. One more hour...

Hands.

We never notice them but we take them for granted. They help us move mountains or climb hills. Wipe the

tears off of the face of someone we love, or wipe the tears off of our own face from somebody whom we

thought we were loved.

Hands.

I have learned to trust and love yours. They lay bare on my skin and I don’t have to worry about what’s

going to go wrong with them. Is it strange I wish I could feel them when I wake, for some nights you’re not

here and I want to shake.

Hands.

There is a pair for all of us out there. They aren’t malicious, or cruel, or unjust. But rather carved out to fit

ours.

Hands.

Someone out there has them. A pair. Ten fingers, two palms. Knuckles that won’t bruise and calluses that

can form. Veins that supply blood to the flow to the both of our souls. Hands express, create, unlearn hurt,

and heal scars. A reminder of another half of what you are. Hands that undo conflict, and heal. They can

pray, and reach out for you: the nearest thing.

By Ella Hilderbrand