Senses Around Me

My mind is as dark and as void as my room is right now with its lights off. Despite the lone back light from my laptop, everything still appears blurred with my lacking motivation to actually focus my sights. Near to my right there is the dull yet consistent hum of my tower as it drones on in its constant state of unrest. Before me is the faint tapping as I type these very words on this familiar program to which I have no particular sentiments. Remaining is only the rhythmic light wisps of breath as my lungs rise and fall in a life long forged pattern. This is what fills my room at this hour of the night. An abstracted mind’s wandering eye gazing upon this room can see how everything has grown to be what it is right now. How each and every single object in my room has a story behind it. When I raise my hand up towards the ceiling, looking past it but observing its shape, its like I’m looking in a mirror at myself, but not just physically. I can see all the heartfelt memories and pain filled scars and the fashioned tales that my hands tell. I can realize how I have changed over the long years. My size, looks, colourings, definitions, even how I view myself. My hands are what make me who I am. How they move and how they react. How steady they are and how they flow with steams of life. As if all the creativity in my entire being flows out through these hands of mine. I can see the power held within, but the control and gentle edge as well. The passion, the rage, the desire to create and the ability to destroy. From the way the skin sits over my bones, veins and muscle to the scars, spots and freckles all make up the adjectives that spice up the story of my life.

I used to hate my hands, but now I love them.
~Chiko.