My hands hurt at night.

I work day in, day out, with glasses. I type at computers and text on my phone. I move from screen to screen to screen. At the end of the day, my hands just hurt. Maybe it’s part of getting older. Maybe it’s part of real life and I just never noticed.

I realized today that there is a pattern in my life. Or the lie of my life.

I have to push aside every distraction just to say what it is. You see, I’m the kind of woman who can have anything she wants.

Except that one thing. The one thing I can’t have.

No, it’s not that someone else has it, and I want it because they have it already. It’s different. It’s another kind of pain. It’s one that cannot be contained in sentences but we try to anyway.

The days are hot lately and the nights are too. I think it’s the Summer’s way of trying to have the last word in the conversation, even though we’re the quiet ones.

My hands hurt.

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