the soles of [my] shoes are all worn down

the girl i babysit was sitting in my passenger seat and staring at herself in the mirror this afternoon. then she started turning her hands over and over in her lap. i asked her what she was thinking about. "my hands are really me," she said with a laugh.

i laughed back and asked her what she meant. she held her slightly crooked hands up next to her face. "my hands look like me. and my face doesn't." it sounded weird at first but i understood. our souls are similar like that...we just understand each other. (who knew that could happen with an emo jewish 13 year old and a 20 year old christian college student?) i knew how she felt...have you ever passed a mirror and wondered who that was inside? i don't look like i feel i should. (and i think you'd have to be made of some similar stuff to mariah and i to understand what that means.) we sat in my van outside of hebrew school and listened to death cab for cutie. and both of us pondered our hands.