hands
hands wander.
they reach out, sometimes
not even knowing what they’re reaching for.
hands touch.
they connect, sometimes
not anticipating the warmth that comes from another hand.
hands grab.
they hang on to the things they love most, sometimes
not even knowing they love them just yet.
hands write.
they press pens to pages, sometimes
spilling words like spilling blood.
hands intertwine.
they hold others’ hearts, sometimes
afraid, but knowing that their fear might be
the most amazing thing they’ll ever touch.
hands like yours and mine
fit perfectly, sometimes
i thank God that when my hands reached out,
they found you.
