Each time I have that feeling, that familiar tingle, I cannot help but hold out my hand, palm up, and and curl my fingers heavenward. The glint of the gold on the finger of the heart is somewhat dimmed by the shadows cast upon it by the light playing on my fingertips. Familiar creases deepen and threaten to forever mould into my palm, canyons upon fair lands, tinged in red as the setting sun.
I stare at the sight, never shaking, deadly still hand. And I feel it. The ever so slight tingle of blood teasing my finger-tips, tickling my nerve endings, and I wonder what it is.
What is that strange sensation? Why do I feel it so? No reason is there, or is there reason where there is none?
What do I do with this, this energy ready to burst forth? For I know not how to expel it. I know not how to treat this condition, to see it through it's end.
Tell me, What will it be, with these tips to bend?
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