A thickening of the skin

Often I wander about with translucent skin.  It's a wonder that casual passersby can't see my heart beating, or my heart breaking. My every tendon, bone, and nerve is exposed to the elements.  I am so delicate to the touch that I just might shatter.

The only solution seems to be to bare my skin to the elements: to run through the breezes to the top of a hill, and to open my arms wide and let the air and the dirt and the sun and the shadows wash over me.  In the open, alone, I can feel my skin knitting back together.  Layer by layer it covers me over and contains me and all these feelings again.  And so this morning I entered an not-yet-open park and ran. I ran to the water and let it flow through my fingers.  I ran to the woods and let the trees soothe me.  I ran to the top of the hill and I howled at the rising sun.

And my skin is thick enough again to carry me through another day.