The backs of our hands touch and I freeze because touching him even in the smallest way is electric. His hands are always so warm and I love his hands anyway, I always have. They’ve always been big but not grubby. Long fingers, not too skinny though, not too square, not too rounded, just strong hands that have held me through everything this life has ever thrown at me. And then those hands that I love, that I think about touching my body every day, in my hair, on my face, under my pillow, those hands shift ever so slightly and his pinky finger links with mine.
