the Anatomy of a Machine

You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body. -C.S. Lewis

My bones have become heavy with thoughts, doubts, and long lists of things to do. My skin is rough from the harsh things I have endured in my time. My hands are trained for hard work. They welcome sweat, stress, and obstacles..as if they were home. My legs have walked this earth for almost twenty years. My back is the equivalent of an adult twice my age. The curve and impressions in my spine show how I've been living. Difficult yet managable. Heavy yet possible. Permittable, yet detrimental. My brain, once so quick to respond, now runs at the sight of any altercation.

I'm growing older and older, every day. As I carry down the list of these mundane tasks, I'm only working my body closer to death. Each day everything works a little less. My bones become weaker. My skin loses life and softness. My hands begin to hurt. My legs beg for me to stay in bed longer. Just five minutes, please? My back whines for a massage. For a caressing touch. Something so different from the demands of my everyday life. My spine craves support. My body craves support. I crave support. Maybe if I had someone to carry my baggage for just a little while...I could get a little rest? I don't really know how much longer the parts of this machine can hold. My body has proved strong enough to carry the weight of my daily routines so far...but just enough for that. Anything else added onto this pile of problems...I'm afraid...will not hold.