2002-01-24 || 4:51 p.m.

|| stitching and knitting and clotting and healing ||

i feel quiet and calm and the perpetual scratches on my hands from the cat (honestly. there are always scratches. always a crop of new ones. nicks and bite marks and straight rips of flesh silently stitching back together, silently repairing.) are quite red today, quite angry. they don't match. they are painful to the touch.

i remember being very little, maybe six, sitting on the curb and studying the perpetual scabs on my knees and looking so forward to the day when i was a grown up with no scabs, just knees. and now i am thinking that of my hands, no scratches, just hands.

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