when i was younger, i was told that if the body adopts even the tiniest of splinters, it will kill; for if the splinter enters the body, and into the bloodstream, it will inevitably travel to the heart, piercing it in one delicate poke. broken glasses and wooden planks became conduits of death to me. so you can imagine my fear when this sadist latched onto my palm, burrowing into me, torturing me with nanometered stabs, all because i innocently caressed a branch. i was seized. but there, under a canvasy sky with incongruously calm winds, you devoutly laboured on me. and now, whenever the serendipity of a canvasy sky blesses me, i still feel your fingers scanning, deciphering the pain of my left palm, like the altruistic hands of a blind nurse. under the serendipity of a canvasy sky, i am tempted to slap another branch, because to feel your earnest benevolence again, i will gladly gamble a heart piercing.