Subject: HandI know my hand like the back of my hand. We go way back, my hand and I. I love its dimples and the way it looks when well moisturized. It's soft countours and knowing carress fill me with peace and tranquility, transporting me to places I would otherwise never see. I go on long walks with my hand, saying nothing, but sharing all my innermost feelings and desires with a sly, mischevious glance. When I'm down my hand picks me up and in the dark, quite times, my hand is always there and always ready with a tickle or knowing touch. My hand has never been too sore from horseback riding and never rejected me, even when tired. Completely faithful and always willing, my hand is my truest life partner. Sometimes, we sleep in, spending hours under the covers and at peace with the world. Many is the time I have woken to find my hand holding me in that oh so familiar way, knowing what I need before I even do. I've forced my hand to share me with others, and still it has stayed with me. I have abused my hand, neglected my hand and worse, spurned my hand for anothers, but it's always there, patient and waiting. I love you hand.... |