That Kind Of Woman

I will hold your hand.
Maybe the first night we meet in a quick and firm handshake.
Or years and years later when we walk down a familiar street.
Maybe in the back of a cab in the Lower East Side.
The aisles of the old antique shops,
trying to stay connected even though our path narrows.
 I will hold your hand each night.
Gazing at its skin, casing your muscle and bone.
I will know the rough calluses you got from years of routine.
I will memorize the knuckles and document them in my memory. 
I will hold your hand in foreign lands.
I will squeeze tightly to reassure you. Too tell you. I love you.
I will hold your hand when you meet my family.
I will loosely entangle my digits betwixt yours. Lazy hand swinging.
I will clutch your hand in the warm, windproof pockets of your winter coat.
I will hold your hand when we walk museums, or libraries. 
Maybe I will tie us together with knotted fingers. 
I just know, I will hold your hand.

(Source: mournfully)

(Source: blogut)

One of my most adored things to do with a significant other; to hold hands. 

Touching and looking at someone’s hands reveal their life’s story better that their words can.

Certain parts of my body are my favorite. My hands are definitely in the top 3. I like hands in general, especially men’s hands, but when it comes down to it, I really love my own.