The Hands I See

When I look at my hands, I ask myself: do I really exist? I see my hands, but do others see them too? And if they do, why do they look right through me?

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)
  • The Sea Slime
    The woman said, ' I am a sinking sea slime; slimy, cold, leathery, shapeless. I live in the mud at the bottom of the sea, listening to i...
  • A Friend of November?
    I’ve never been a friend of November, but lately I’ve been trying to learn to appreciate it more. So I wrote two sentences in my black-paged...
  • Gallery Encounters
    An old man sat beside me, gazing at the painting of infinity. Though we did not know each other and had arrived at our own times, following ...