If your heart were this page, whose hand prints and fingerprints would be covering it? Would it be full with little white space left? Would it be a selection of only the finest hand prints around? Would it be colorful or a monochromatic mile map of significant moments of your existence?
If this page were my heart, the deepest layer of it would be beautiful fingerprints of teals and turquoise from my first days wrapped up in hospital blankets in my mom's arms. There would be polka-dotted scenes in hot pink with traces of glitter from those three years I was an only child. I'm sure somewhere in there there would be John Deere green and Carhartt brown from the little brother that drove me crazy but was always around anyway. . .
If this page were my heart you would see black and white spots from pre school conversations with friends that still touch my life today, yellows and greens from car drives to Rainbow Gymnastics with Jenna, and warm, soft pinks from shopping trips with Gran, sleep overs with Aunts from far away, and late night readings of Charlotte's Web in a perfect, canopy bed.
There would be prints of blue from the little girl I thought was my best friend, but ended up teaching me what a best friend actually wasn't instead. There would be full hand prints from that dreaded 4th grade teacher who ended up changing my life for the better, fingerprints from that boy who was my first kiss and still is who I measure every guy by. . . as what I do not ever want to be with, again.
There's likely multiple hand prints of gorgeous parents that never let their love fade for their only daughter, growing hand prints of the younger brother I couldn't help but like, in the end. You will see fast fading fingerprints of friends I thought would last forever and vibrant hand prints of souls that mine would drowned without- new and old.
There are sure to be tiny hand prints from Christopher when he called me 'Tet,' Belle and Braden's beautiful prints would trace a fast, concrete map to the center of my heart, and Max and Joseph's would trace the outline of my heart- as they are part of the loud entity that created my life.
If this page were my heart there would be few spaces found between all the hand prints, fingerprints, and traces of people who make the surface of the only organ that can keep you alive long after it's been broken; the only organ that is sure to melt when blue eyed blondes look right in your eyes and whisper "hey, Stephi! Love you;" the only organ that takes the most hits, endures the most strain, swells from great pride, and continues to pump in your chest cavity, allow goosebumps to stain the surface of your skin, make sure your body registers when all these experiences mean something.
If this page were my heart- somewhere you would likely find your fingerprints because somehow, some way, you've touched my life, you've kissed my cheek, you've taught me a lesson. If this page were my heart- somewhere you would likely find your fingerprints because somehow, some way, you've left an impression.
If this page were my heart it would be covered in red- it would be covered in love- built by fingerprints who map out my soul.
Go leave your fingerprints on some one's heart today. . . and paint it a rainbow.
-Stephi D.
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