I am just skin

I feel like a Halloween pumpkin, all carved out and hollow. All that is left of me is this skin. I have never had thick skin. It’s all thin and frigid around the edges, curling in on itself. There’s not much left of me here inside. I gave away my soul long ago, passing fragments of it out like candy on a crisp fall evening. This soul belongs to the trees, to the dirt, sinking so far away from me I can no longer grasp it in my clutches and urge myself to not let go. I’m all skin, wrinkly, woven by molecules choosing everyday to weave themselves together. I gave my soul away a long time ago to the thud of heartbeats and the feeling of the first snow fall. I gave my soul to the overwhelming joy of my father coming home and welcoming us at the door. I’m just this skin fragile, as delicate as the spider webs that blanket the front porch of my childhood home. This soul is long gone, given to the feeling that warm tea gives my insides, given to the way it feels like home when I hug my mother. All that is left is this skin, wrapped around nothingness and tangled within itself. My soul was given to the feeling in the pit of my stomach as I dipped my feet into the vast ocean for the first time, given to the way it feels when a kiss lingers a little longer than expected. I am just skin. My soul was given to the way my brother tilts his head back when he laughs at my jokes, given to the tickling feeling of feet tangled within blades of grass for the first time. I am just skin. My soul was fragmented into pieces and encompasses beautiful moments of my life. I am just skin, how lucky am I.