Do you ever feel like you are wearing someone else’s skin? Walking around in the threads of another’s life wondering how you got there?
I wonder if that’s what being born feels like. Finding yourself in new, soft and fragile skin. Wondering how you came to be here and struggling to understand these new limbs, fingers and toes, eyes and ears. Maybe babies feel like they’re in someone else’s skin and that’s why the wailing doesn’t stop when the diapers changed or food is offered. Maybe it’s all so bewildering and sometimes they just can’t cope.
That’s how I feel sometimes. Like this body I walk around in isn’t really mine and it’s not doing what I should be doing, the patterns and rhythms of this life feel off, like paint peeling of window ledges. Old and uncertain.
And I reach for your fingers, hoping for an anchor to keep me here. Grounded.