therapy

» thumbprints

My eyes scrolled down the three words of hatred, pouring through the edges of the cracks of the screen. My chest began to ache—a bump was growing as if these words were feeding them. "I can't do this," I whispered as if my mouth was constricting my words, suffocating them. My mind started to race with the pictures of blood blurred in front of my eyes.

Her fingers curled around mine, slipping the phone out of my fingertips. She raised my empty fingers and dipped them into a small can of paint. Slowly, she planted my fingertips across a blank canvas of white. A smile began to sketch itself across her strawberry lips.

"Don't listen to them," she smiled weakly. "Imagine as if they came up to you, with a bag over their head, as they screamed words at you. How obscure and cowardly is that? This is how anonymous hatred spins in this world. The people behind a screen—that can be broken once it is dropped—is the same person with a bag over their head. They are ashamed to tell you the truth so they cover the truth with a bag of lies."

"Why would they say this in the first place if it isn't the truth?" I pressed the back of my head against the dusty wall, watching the cobwebs spread across my eyes of weariness. "It feels as if I'm being stabbed by the edges of the words."

"Look, see that? Those are your thumbprints. They signify your existence. Your meaning. You have a unique thumbprint; no one else in the whole world has this very specific thumbprint. You wouldn't be able to share your talents with the world. No one else has your talents. No one else in the world smiles the way you do. Blinks as fast or slow as you do. Breathes the same rate. You're so damn special, don't you see this? Without you, these words wouldn't be spewing out of my mouth. Without you, I wouldn't be able to smile. Without you, this world wouldn't be able to grow. It wouldn't be able to understand that scars need to heal. These words are not tainted. These thumbprints are not tainted with hatred. They are tainted with beauty. Your beauty." She handed me the picture of a thousand thumbprints, all done by one finger. "And if they ever tell you to, 'please go die,' tell them that without you, discoveries wouldn't be made."