Hands

His hands
I watched them today in class
I found them
Fascinating

He doesn't fidget
He sits calmly
He looks like he's paying attention
But I'm wondering what he's thinking

He picks up his pencil
Not hurriedly, like the others
But calmly
In that deliberate way that only few have the patience for

His grip on his pencil
He has complete control
Without turning his knuckles white

It's always that way
Calm
Deliberate
Never rushing
But always keeping up
Without falling behind

I want to know more about him
I want to grab a coffee
Just sit
And talk

I want to know more about how he thinks
His view of the world
And to share mine

I have less than a month left
I think I'll still be left wondering

A safe place

This feeling
Like I'm drowning
In a sea of everything

My self
(What is self?)
Is lost
Is being lost
Even as I cling to it hopelessly
It is slipping

I can still see it
It is not far
But far enough to make me fear
That it may not come back
That it may be different when it does
(Numerically? Qualitatively?)
That I'm losing it

My self
(What is that?)
Is slipping
I am slipping
(As the reeds whisper from the edge)
I am the one being lost
Drifting
Being carried away

Arms
I need arms around me
Grounding me
Reminding me that I am myself
(Though the locks may disagree)
Reminding me
Of everything
Yet not saying a word
Just holding
Grounding

Alas
I am alone
No arms tonight
Just my own
Holding myself in
Against the sea
Surviving
(What does that mean?)
Closing my eyes to the water
Huddled in a dark place
My safe place