I saw it, long ago.
Withered and wrinkled.
I asked her, then, if my veins would look the same as hers when I was her age.
She laughed, apologetically, but I was serious.
I wanted those hands.
And I’m beginning to see them, now.
Ever so slightly.
The pronounced blue protrusions.
The fragile cells in-between.
The soft cover of a life, well-lived.
Captured by Katie McCracken