005

I want your hands to hold me like I am made out of old tracing paper. Ready to tear, wanting to tear into shreds, enduring the harsh graphite slicing my skin. Meagre slices of paper, many layered together yet still so ready to be torn. I want you to unfold the mystery of what is written on this tracing paper, handling me with care and caution so that you are not the one to ruin me. Use your kind fingers to smooth out my wrinkles and mistakes; I want you to be able to read me as clear as these letters are against the bright of my screen. It is 21:55 now, and I am still scared. Still needing to be folded up, hiding my scripture from everything else that exists. But I want you to unfold me, reveal me and expose me so that I am not scared anymore. I want you to help me understand that it's okay to be known and that it is okay to come out of the dark - from time to time.