Your palm is a compass.
Follow it. Become it. See it for all that it is. You will one day want to hold palms out so high that not even the stars can graze your fingertips- and the weight of all that you carry will start to blister and tear and bleed. The compass won’t really look how it used to. It will look more like a map- the map of the world you hold. You carry. You feel. And you will want to show everyone your hands to try and help guide them home. It will look like this: holding your breath so that you don’t take up too much space, pushing bad thoughts away to make room for something more, pulling back the layers of every bad thing to make room for the good- to make room for everyone. And sometimes your palms will hold remnants of a crashing world and you will torch it and keep it an urn, then go back to try and earn the right to save it all. Sometimes your palms won’t look as mangled because they’re yours. They built you just as much as you built them. Built everything- the world you carry.