Gentle and Rough
You’re about to cross the street
Your best friend is waving at you from the other side
Oblivious to everything around you, you are more curious of the ice cream your friend is holding
With half a foot size of a hand someone suddenly grabbed your arm
Large, coarse hands
Rough from healing scars
Quickly you are pulled back and your ears bleed from the screeming of horns and tires
You are cursed at by a truck driver
You are only seven and a half
You forget the ice cream
You forget your best friend
You just cling to the gentle rough hands that silently consume your tears
