(Y)our hands

I love your hands.

I love your eyes, your voice, your smile, your stare, your laughter, you ..

But I love your hands.

I found myself unconscious once, in a dark and sinister place. I felt the gentle touch of a hand on my shoulder, and the voice of an angel saying ‘come with me .. take my hand .. I won’t let you fall apart’ ..

I held out my hand, unable to see the beautiful stranger, and suddenly felt the palm of his hand against mine. His hands were cold .. yet they burned me when we touched.



With the palms of our hands against each other, his fingers interlocked with mine and he pulled me to my feet. Thén, that very moment, I knew I was safe.

Those hands would become .. E V E R Y T H I N G ..

They would become my anchors, my crutches, my handlebars. They became the hands of an artist, who could draw me wings. The hands of a writer who could rearrange the words in súch a way that it would unlock a whole new world to me. The hands of someone who knew hard work and sacrifice. Hands that knew exactly when to catch my falling tears or when to read my smile with its fingertips.

They were hands that could forgive, hands that would hold on no matter what would come our way, hands that were willing to fight for me, hands that would protect me, love me, consider second chances.

They were the hands belonging to the beautiful stranger, standing with his arms wrapped around me, his back turned as defence towards anything or anybody that could possibly do me any harm.

They were your hands. They became my fortress.

I find myself unconscious in a dark and sinister place. I see a shadow standing outside the window. When did the distance become so far?

I crawl towards the window .. I look up at the fingerprints left on the glass .. and recognize them. They are the same ones left inside my heart, on my soul, in every breath I take.



I try to get up, stand on my knees at first, until I find something to hold on to, a concrete memory of you. I can barely stand up straight on my own. But I lift my hand and touch the glass. I am scared, vulnerable. For suddenly ..

Suddenly the hand reaching out to me .. belongs to my reflection. Me .. against myself.  I can’t see you .. yet .. I can still feel you – even so far away.

Our hands now pressed against the glass ..