There is nothing more intimate than holding hands with another human being. Gaze into each other’s eyes, by all means, press your bodies together and revel in the warmth of the moment. But take a person’s hand and they’ll never forget it.
It starts with an essence – an essence? – yes, an essence. You feel the energy of the body next to your, and the need to turn your head and observe them builds up until you have to take a peak. You realize that they had the same thought and eyes meet, casting themselves aside in timid excitement. A safe smile, casual body language, and the just barely visible sight of a scooch closer, and you turn away.
You nudge closer too, and fingers start crawling, stopping only at the first contact of the sough out object. They wince away sharply, but then ease up and throw themselves back in the ring. Finger tips touch, and the flame is lit.
It burns and burns and burns. Butterflies are cast aside when contact is made. Taking in the texture of another’s skin and nails, consider how foreign this hand is. A hand that has maybe even been held before; maybe a hand that has touched and been touched before, and yet you realize that you have no idea what this limb is.
You wait until it is okay for fingers to rub each other; individual digits may embrace, but hands are still apart. Oh so anxious at first, these fingers want to learn more, and so slowly branch out. Up the nail, to the first knuckle, caressing the second, and tracing the top, don’t you crave the palm? All those lines need to be traced. And what can you expect? Calluses? Bruises? Scars? Soft skin? Rough? Dry? Lonely?
Suddenly something unexpected happens: Their fingers wiggle their way to your palm first, and your heart skips a beat. Slowly, carefully, you open up your hand as you feel them do the same. Fingers tips reunite, sliding past each other, until finally hands connect.
It’s as though I can feel his heart beating as hard as mine when palms press.