I remember the tips and edges were rigid and hard. Then came a smooth and an even part that could gently be painted. I remember the bristles and lines, the waves and knuckles. I remember the other side was soft, yet different. It had more of a meaning and was used more often. How could one side be so harsh and stiff and another is gentle and firm. The nimble side had more developed lines and as he rubbed it against my leg it would make the hairs on my leg dance to the swiftness and grace of his touch. However when he touched me with the unkind, steady side I could feel the warmth and his heart beating through them. I remember putting his next to mine and letting them find there way to each other. I remember it like the back of my hand.