Meg Meets Clementine Hands

7393People are like books.

But not some 700-page monstrosity by Ayn Rand that makes you feel like you’re lifting weights while getting in some reading. No, people are more like picture books.

A quick read, glance even, and you can understand what they’re going through. As a species, we’re pretty weak. We wear our pain and our happiness, our exhaustion and worry woven into our clothes. It is inescapable, try as you might to hide it; someone somewhere reads your emotions like a children’s picture book.

Moments are meant to stay with you. There is a reason we feel things, it’s your body’s way of telling you, “take notice, you’re going to want to remember this.” Be it good or bad, there is a reason you feel it.

I don’t know why we try so hard to hide our feelings… If I’m tired it’s probably because I was doing something the night before that I deemed more important than sleep. That thing could’ve been a night out with friends or reading a good book or writing in my journal, and if that moment felt too important to sleep, then I’m not going to hide my tiredness. I will wear my exhaustion with pride, because it means I did something that, at the moment, meant a lot to me.

And if I’m sad because I lent some person a small piece of my soul for a time and they returned it bruised and replaced with broken promises; I will not hide my sorrowfulness. The grief that follows a broken heart should never be masked, for it is a sign of love and hope, it shows the world that you are not as cynical as everyone else; it shows people that you still believe in more. You believe in letting someone in.

People are books that you have to crack open and glance at to understand. You can’t just walk past them; only reading their titles typed with care down their spines and expect to understand their life story. You have to flip through the pages and see every moment that a person deemed important enough to feel, in order to understand who they are. In order to understand a person, you must take note of their unspoken emotions; their true feelings.

I’m the kind of person who smells my hands hours after eating a clementine. I love the faded scent on my fingers from the minute I took peeling the fruit down layer by layer; to me, it’s the smell of sunshine and relaxation. I cherish the smell of my Clementine hands, but you would never know that without taking a minute to see that small emotion.

+Meggan Fallon

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