Fingertips

I feel nothing. Mostly. That's not new. I must have imagined it, or dreamt it, because it has that same strange mistiness about it. The fog now descends and stubbornly remains, because it isn't interrupted by fingertips.

I feel neutral. Mostly. I don't look back with rose glasses, nor do I look back in regret. I look back as though I am looking at the life of someone else. Like I don't know myself. Like I don't know you, or fingertips.

I feel unchanged. Mostly. But I guess that's not true, whether I feel that way or not. I think I've probably learned a lot. I know I've learned the power of fingertips.

I feel comfortable. Falling back, feet firm on what is familiar. Safe. Sometimes it feels like giddy relief. Sometimes it feels empty. And sometimes into the emptiness comes the ghost of your fingertips.