Empty handed.

I want to hold strangers’ hands. For the short periods of time I get to stand close to other people I just want to hold their hand in mine. At the bus stop and in the lecture theatres and at poetry slams and in Church pews. It’s such a small personal notion but sometimes when people feel like they are crumbling or hollow or a blazing cauldron of pent up feelings and confusion; sometimes, the feel of another’s hand, heart beating against you palms, makes existence bearable. Old hands, hard hands, tiny baby hands that can only clutch a finger, parents’ hands and siblings’. Spouse hands, co-workers and boss’ hands. A whole other existing human sitting or standing or laying down, kneeling, squatting with their arm reached out or up to firmly clasp another’s. Is there a clearer expression of love and solidarity?
I want to hold strangers’ hands. Maybe even lace my fingers through theirs. Let it be awkward, sweaty, stiff or too tight. But first, I’m going to start with my friends.
-Nap time Wednesdays
DeProcrastination station.
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