“I spent an hour watching the way people hold hands. The way palms meet palms, the intricacy of fingers laced around other fingers like a fine stitching of some foreign fabric. I spent an hour watching hands.
The first was a young couple. I watched the way his hand waited in the air, hers complacent to her side. I watched as he grabbed hers, locked it around his fingers like an over-protective father holds on to the innocence in his daughter and, just like the overbearing of a father in the rebellion of a child, she was resistant. Held his only for a moment, then she would let go. She did this several times. I would watch them. I would laugh in my mind but, soon, it was not so funny; the way her fingers would drop his after holding them so quickly - never tightly, never did she hold his back - I could just imagine how much she was holding back. He never got the hint, though. He just kept finding her fingers, locking them in his grip - it let me know that he was in love, alone. This woman and man let me know that their entire relationship could be summed up in the way she kept letting go of his hands.
Soon, there were another set of fingers and thumbs - mid-twenties. I could tell by the entanglement of nubs that they were still new in love. Hands dangling in the air, swaying backwards and forwards like swings. Like, not a care. Something about the sway in the way they held each other’s hands let me know that it wasn’t so serious, but it was getting there. I watched them. I could tell by the lightness in the grasp that if she wanted to go there, he was just as ready as her hands.
Third couple. I could see the possession in his middle finger. I could see the same hands used to hold her presently maybe had been across her face before. The same fingers that were tied into a knot around hers had simultaneously been around her neck. I could see the excuses she made for him in the way she bit her fingernails. It let me know that she grew her patience in other places. I never looked at her face, but I could see the rock in her palm. I could see the ownership in his fist because he never, never held her hand. He carried her wrist. Third couple wasn’t a couple at all. It was one set of hands.
The fourth set of hands were my favourite. They were different from the rest. Hands were creased like the ones in his pants and were filled with lines, like maps. I’m thinking - I’m thinking they show where they’ve been. He would occasionally lift hers to his mouth to taste the sweetness of their time together. They walked slow. Their hands did not fidget. Never uncomfortable with the little space or the silence that was between them. Held each other with such a closeness, I could not tell where their hands would begin and end. No need to swing them while they walked; they were comfortable with the certainty of the journey. They were in this together."
romaincrisis
vaporwave
dailybridgerton
gracieabrams
origamiaround
