I am preserved like dead things in amber

i am almost good enough to hold onto things
still, i should not own so many breakable trinkets
with my hands as shaky as they are, i should not be so close to anything so fragile
i should not be here with you
not when the feeling of otherness creeps in at night
not when it is soft and oh so quiet
not when it is familiar with my body
and i am too intimate with its ache
too familiar with the way it holds me like an old lover all while burrowing deeper into my bones
and how easy it is to forget what a body needs
the basics always seem to slip away first
water, food, sleep, light
in no particular order, and i forget that i too am fragile
I too am held within my shaky hands
I too am in my care
and I am in danger