I looked at my hands while washing up and thought, these hands do everything

Dear Delyara, Plates, lunchboxes, hair, forms, steering wheels, medication, groceries, buttons, uniforms, comfort, packing, clearing, pointing, touching, cleaning, carrying. I stood there with soap on my wrists and thought how much of my whole life passes through my hands before it becomes visible to anyone else. They are tired in ways I rarely properly notice. That thought stayed with me. Not as self-pity. As fact.