sometimes I stare at my fingernails as my hands hover over the keyboard of my computer. I could find better things to distract myself with - the smooth surface of my laptop is littered with notes scribbled with pencil and since smudged, the fan in my room whirs so intensely that I think it might just fall on top of me and chop me into little pieces, three strands of my freshly cut hair keep falling into my eyes and urging me to take to my mane with a pair of scissors over the bathroom sink.
instead, here I am. wondering what it would feel like to have my entire nail ripped from my index finger. the soft flesh underneath has never been exposed to the real world, and I envy it. I want it to know what it's like, I want to trade places.