Sunday, August 12, 2012

Holding On - A Short

My boyfriend holds my hand like he’s trying to break my fingers. He has to be on the bottom, “Because it’s warm,” he says. And then he curls my fingers around into his fist.

I like to believe that appendages are meant to be inert. That my hand it meant to be palm up with just the slightest curl. That it should feel like floating.

When holding hands, palm side down is fine, like a protective covering over the other hand. I like to sandwich too. One hand cupping his palm and the other covering his knuckles. Just enough to rub my thumb over his veins, tense and twisting around to squeeze my fingers.

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