From time to time I check in with the lines on my face. I make sure they are still there when I fear that I've disappeared. I'm still here, for now. I'm still waking up and diving into the absurdity of life, for now. I'm learning to swim without any kind of flotation device. I'm walking on thin ice with boots that weigh more than the world. I'll figure it out once it all cracks.
And the cracks on my hands just mean that I live in a desert, right? It means that my climate fights with the layer that protects what's inside. The outer versus the inner. The uncovered versus the covered. Both wear me out. Both wear my bones.
The time comes when I will walk these lines on my face to the crooked home that is my heart. I won't stop for a roadside attraction. I won't stop to stomp around an old ghost town. I will continue to check my soles for rocks. I will continue the trek to an end, to an oasis.