Handles

I never understood the expression, "knowing like the back of my hand". Maybe because I never knew my own hands that much. Maybe because I always felt like they do not fit that much, even if mashed into a fist still doesn't have enough power, even if spread open still couldn't catch a ball. Maybe because I feel like it only fits a pen. I still think that it is somewhat too small to grasp all of this memories, too big to afford so many mistakes, too weak to grab hold of the thing that did not last and sometimes, too strong that I break what it is that I have. I feel like my hands were a map I could never memorize the streets and intersections, my palms a future I can never predict. These fingers connected to my body that still feels like a stranger to me probably,  because I never knew how to use them. I never knew when to hold on. I never knew when to let go.