I have always loved hands.  I have no idea why.  Maybe it is because we do thousands of things with them everyday but yet take the ability for granted.  I feel like you can tell so much about a person by looking at their hands.

Hands also do so many important things.  They prepare food, wipe away tears, comfort, caress, love…

I have always liked my hands.  I don’t have teeny fingers but I have always liked how they are long and skinny in proportion.

There’s moments in your life where your hands play such an intricate role that you never forget.

Me?  I can still remember slipping my finger into her tiny hand.  I knew she couldn’t have but I swear that I could feel her grip my finger.  I marveled at her tiny perfect fingers and for a moment it was like she was there.

And I still remember just grasping his hand in the car and watching them intertwined as the moonlight played up the contrast of our skin tones.  His hand was so warm.  And it felt like the heat just shot straight through me.  I hated and loved how fulfilled I felt at the same time.


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