I remember hands.
When I think of someone I haven’t seen for a long time. Or someone I will never see again. I see their hands. My mind pictures the shape of their nails. The length of their fingers. Slender. Wide. Rounded or squared. The curve of their wrist. The gestures they made.
Unique. Personal.
But they change. Our hands.
Fingers bend with an arthritic curve. Skin tells of our days in the sun. Scars. Lines. Creases. Spots. Yes. They change. And yet, there’d be no mistaking them. We would still know them anywhere. And to whom they belonged.
And that’s true for us. We bend. Curve. Digress. Succeed.
Scar. Fail. Fall. Fly. Hurt. Heal.
And change.
Because nothing ever stays the same. Even if it seems so. Not our hands. Not us.
But we will always reach for the familiar. Seek the uniqueness. Strive to see the recognizable.
The memorable. The unforgettable.
We’ll always look for what we understand. We will always know each other. Even through continuous change. Because despite sometimes believing we want things to stay the same, we thrive on growth. Diversity.
Spice.
The things that make us look closer. Use our minds. Feel. Find. Connect.
The things that give us a hand…to hold on.
I really don’t watch that much TV so ignore the remote and focus on the fact that I was brave enough to post this extreme close-up of my unmanicured mitt. It was a spontaneous shot. ;0)
Hazy Shades of Me 