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.