My hands

What greater purpose were my hands made for? My art, writing, design, ability to catch a touchdown pass, to separate me from the animal kingdom that doesn’t have thumbs? What made my hands different than any other mans? My hands, my arms, they were meant for you. To hold you close when you were cold, to shelter you from the rain underneath one umbrella, to help you up into a truck, to entwine with your fingers in the darkness of the night, to caress your head as my fingers made their way through your hair, to bring you in closer so that my lips could press against yours. My hands may not have done all these things every day or every night; they may have even done worse things not so sweet. Even so, to this day my hands were made for you. There truly was no greater purpose to have such hands that once held your love.

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Published in: on May 7, 2010 at 5:38 PM  Leave a Comment  
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