Notice My Hand
Here, hold my right hand for a moment. Don't tighten your grip. Nor linger for too long. Just hold my hand and feel the warmth. Notice how I don't have the softest hand, nor does it have roughness that could assume I've been doing heavy work. Notice the size of my bony hand. It could easily be a child's hand, if you didn't know it was mine. Notice how it isn't sweaty, but also not dry. Notice how I have a ring on my middle finger as if it made it more glamorous to flip that to people. Notice how you can see the color of veins just doing it's job. But I bet you did not notice the difference of color of my skin to the skin below my ring. It forebodes the longevity and permanence of what I hold dear most. I bet you did not notice I fli
nched at your touch since my hands have only touched and held one constant thing. I truly bet you did notice the craving of my hand as if it was reaching for something invisible but something real as well. And I bet you did not notice how small my hand is and that it is also the size of my heart- easily wounded, easily scarred, easily broken. You only notice the things you want to see. Therefore, what can I really do to let you see that there is more to just holding my hand.