My hands are cold…

 

My hands are empty; they’re cold. 

The air is still, too still. Hope is waiting. Quietly. 

My hands are cold for a reason. Hundreds of other men’s hands wouldn’t work. I know that I don’t need to try them all out. Only yours were made to hold mine. Only yours will be strong enough. Only yours will be warm enough. Only mine will fit into yours perfectly. 

So my hands will stay cold. I can wait. 

My hands are my gift to you. 

(Brushes the tears away. Bravely.)

Never give up on my hands, Beloved. Ever.