Hands… Touching, caressing, gripping, pushing, hitting, pulling, soothing. Do they ever do something on their own? Something unexpected? Something you thought they didn’t have in them? Gripping hard enough to cause pain when all you intended is a firm touch? Does it seem sometimes that anger and frustration flows directly from your heart to your hands, bypassing your brain?
Ever wonder how hands can be so expressive without your permission? Ever sit on your hands to stop them from shaking while you pretend to be brave and not care that the world is crumbling all around you? Ever reach for something even when you knew you shouldn’t? Ever force your hands to slip something into your pocket and walk away pretending it didn’t really happen?
Ever have your hands tell you something before your eyes did? Hands breaking out in cold sweat a moment before you saw the car in front of you stop suddenly as you were still reaching for the brake pedal. Did you really think the rash blossoming on the delicate inner wrist was just an allergy? Was it?
Touch… welcomed, desired, rejected, indifferent. Or lack of it. Which is more painful? My hand gripping yours; unable to hold on, unable to let go. Hugs, handshakes, waves, hands talking without ever saying a word. Can you control what your hands say or do? Would you even want to?
No comments:
Post a Comment