small_fragile_creatures pony Every grown hand that has ever held mine, has found ways to do me harm. Sitting on my own in the glow of the light from the next room, well into sleeping hours, and thinking of small fragile creatures, I too imagined all the ways you could do me harm. Impossible, I conclude, it simply cannot be foreseen. In thought of you, I see gentle hands, in which I may be enveloped one day, so long after and not at all fated as the torn, sopping yellow thing that I found on the ground outside of my apartment mailroom. Our names were all that was left. 240225 what's it to you? who go blather from