[Like many previous posts, the following makes absolutely no sense. At all. You have been forewarned. Continue reading at your own discretion]
Most days I forget that I'm a woman.
Let me clarify for those of you who are perplexed: I forget the "womanly" parts and needs within.
Lately I've stared at my hands. Studied them. Wondered if someone will ever hold them or if they'll be as empty as they are now for all my days.
This sense of longing and wanting I just can't describe pulses through my entire being. These feelings invade and corrupt every part of me like foreigners in a land whose inhabitants and daily goings-on I'd known and expected.
Yet these hands, my hands are the most sorry casualties of this emptiness I feel lately. They feel hollow. Unwanted. Without a home.
They suffer from the seven (plus 23) year itch, I suppose.
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