Revitalization's Weblog

For the curious, questioning, and wandering soul

Hands

She’s a young woman, waves of black cascade down as her head hangs, her face in her hands. She sits, she ponders, she feels… something sad from within. Something of sorrow.  She feels her heart, so ready, brimming with love and possibility, abundant with ardor and zeal. She feels it thumping and thumping, as if knocking on her chest from within, asking: is it time yet?

She lifts her head, her dark eyes gaze downwards with eyelids heavy, she looks down upon her hands, they’re open, concave, soft and smooth. They sit calmly before her, in no rush, wisely waiting, calmly existing, knowing that when the right hands come to hers, they will fit. Simply. And they won’t ever let go.

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