Because it was real, that we existed and once, we were possible.

Hands
Monday, April 16, 2012

The things I miss most with distance are hands. 

Your hand in mine, the way you hold a pen between your fingers, your hands grasped firmly around my waist, your fingers tracing my lips. 

I miss the way your hands tilts my chin up to kiss you or the way your hands make violent waves when you tell me a story. 

I miss the rise and flow, the sweeping gestures and the gentle touches. 

I miss the way he don’t have to say anything, but simply lace our fingers together in the dark.

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