My fingers feel new,
pale and pink like a baby freshly washed.
They ache as they uncurl
Released from the tension of holding on too tightly for too long.
Spaces between my fingers expand to hollow imprints
left behind from too much pressure.
Scars fade from bleeding red to hopeful white
blending into the milky paleness of my skin
Once locked, now free.
Free to reach and feel
Free to shake with uneasiness and vulnerability
Free to work the ground and feather through the grassy blades
Free to write once more
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