Sleepy hands tug at the sheets, straightening and rearranging. They push the long hair off her neck and reshape the pillow to better fit her head. They are finally still, one resting on top of her abdomen and the other tucked behind the nape of her neck.
The nails have been bitten. It is not out of stress, but rather a reflexive habit picked up when reading or watching movies or doing anything that does not require hand movement.
The writer's callus on the middle finger is evidence of frequent use of a pencil. She adjusts her hand and rests it palm up next to her pillow. This skin, so often hidden from the sun, is pale in the watery moonlight. Her hand is soft and fresh, as untouched as new snow.
These hands are young and inexperienced. They have experienced tree-climbing, shoe-tying, monkey bars, and high fives, but they have yet to hold the weight of the world.
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