Thursday, June 13, 2013


For my girl Farisia:

I know a girl who has atlas hands; who has a fingertip span that stretches across land and water, and a laugh that sounds like the turning pages of a book.
One day, she showed me her hands, opening them to me like I was a palm reader, but instead of lines that told the future, she had lines that showed how many times she has crossed the ocean.
"Here is where I was born," she said, holding up her index finger, "It's easy to remember, because this is the universal sign for the number 1 - the beginning of everything."
She flipped her hand over and said, "This is where I come from." "Do you know it like the back of your hands?" I joked. "Yes," she said with a smile, "And it's also where my family is. Whenever I do anything, whether it's writing or typing or shielding the sun from my eyes, I see it and remember that there is always a place where I am needed and a place for me to go back to."
"This is where I went for a missions trip," she pointed to her knuckle, "I met people who taught me that love is always worth fighting for."
Then she showed me her wrist, "This is where we are right now. I've always thought that wrists are one of the most beautiful parts of the body. Maybe because without them, hands wouldn't be able to function. Maybe because they are a connecting point that leads to greater things."
I took her hands and said, "Show me where your home is."
"Oh you'll never find it looking there," she laughed (flip flip the pages turned) and put her hands, maps and all, over her heart and said, "Home is here."

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