The strap of the bag I wear over my shoulder as I walk to work leaves a mark across my chest. It fades within an hour. My skin is plain again about the time I'm finishing my morning cup of coffee. I make it strong and I drink it black. Not because I am proving anything. Although I can understand why you'd think that.
Today I am distracted by the worry that I am too selfish, and that this selfishness is somehow inherent. I mean not so much that I refuse to share objects or that I refuse to lend a hand... rather, I am selfish in this way: I don't know how to share myself. I don't know how to look you in the eye and trust you enough to hear my stories and carry them on. I am not unusual in this. Don't we all have a locked safe in our chests? I just worry that mine came without hinges.
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