Hands fascinate me.
Baby hands with tiny dimpled knuckles. Finding feet that are ever so elusive.
Hands of my grandma that would inadvertently fold creases into her pants leg as she talked or confidently complete crossword puzzles in ink.
I distinctly remember touching my grandparents hands for the last time.
The hands of the elderly couple that easily find each others walking in the park. Conveying a lifetime of comfort and love.
I watched a woman today at the surgery center as her husband handed her his wedding ring when he was lead off by a nurse for whatever procedure he was having. She lovingly put the ring on her index finger and spent the next couple of hours absently caressing it. I could see her counting the seconds until she could return his ring to the rightful place that it obviously belonged.
My sweetie and I have been holding hands since almost the day we met. In the car. Sitting on the couch watching TV. Anytime we walk next to each other. Always! We are gonna be that elderly couple. I find much comfort in holding hands and touching his fingers.