Her hands...His hands.

He watched her walk across the snow. It's all he could do. And okay, maybe it was weird if someone looked over and saw him just watching her, he didn't care.
He watched her walking in the snow, all bundled up, her breath see able. Her water bottle stuck in the pocket of an over sized sweatshirt, the hood hiding her newly black hair. He saw her stop and take a picture of something in the distance, then turn off the camera and tie it securely around her wrist. And her hands.
She was smart enough to not wear her sandals during winter, but her gloves always remained in her pocket. So he watched her hands swinging at her sides. He could the rings she had on-the one had been her mother's on her right hand right finger. A butterfly with a different color on each wing. And the silver band on her left hand. A "promise" ring. A promise to who? He had asked once. Whoever I marry. She replied.
He knew without seeing her fingernails were long. She hated cutting them and there were threads hanging from her jacket where the fingernails had gotten caught.
It was the same routine everytime.
He would start to watch her walk , focusing on this detail and that one, remembering more memories and her personality with each. He wouldnt linger on things like her chest though. She always he did but in truth they both hated the kind of guys who lingered on such things. Maybe she couldnt get it out of her head that he was a guy. Couldnt figure out he was different.
He knew she was the day they met. That strange "group therapy". He hadn't looked at her for the first two weeks but when he did she had been taking off her gloves to reveal those long thin hands with scars up and down them. Okay, maybe her scars weren't on her hands. But her sleeves had fallen dow an inch or two and he'd seen the long spindly lines that crossed over into the edges of her palms. Later she would tell him how she used to cut down her fingers on the undersides too but you couldnt see those scars anymore. They had mostly faded and been mixed with cat scratches.
Her arms and wrists? He hadn't seen them in a long time. All winter she'd kept her arms covered and had said back in summer she wanted a tattoo over that area. Maybe that's where she walking from. Usually she came from the store, either with a bag of groceries from home or junk food for the two of them. And everytime they would walk for a mile or so, by his place and hers, just talking. And for the longest he had wanted to hold that hand. He couldnt imagine how cold it must be now, with no gloves on them. But they were friends, and she didn't trust easy. Maybe four years of being with no one had let her build it up again. Maybe this long winter is what would make her fingers stretch towards his.
He almost sworn the last time they'd walked she had, but that had been valentine's day, both of them lonely, and her hands looking lovely as ever.
He couldn't explain it, but no matter where his thoughts went, they always traveled back to her hands. In his dreams, its all he saw of her.

Maybe he thought. Maybe today would be the day. Her birthday was soon and as much as she felt she couldn't step back into dating, he could see in her eyes the want to have someone again. It was a reflection of his own, but then, his own celibacy had been for almost completely different reason. In the beginning of it anyways.

He snapped out of his thoughts as she got closer, only having to cross the walkway now. He would always forget she was walking towards him. this time, he saw, she held no bags, her hands wide open. And within seconds they were walking, talking about new exciting things.




She couldn't sleep that night. And not for the reasons she hadn't slept years ago. She was happy. Content. She didn't want that day to end. He had finally held her hand. Okay, yes, she had done her part pushing him away, keeping to her singleness, but her original time had far run out and the she knew both her friends and God kept bringing him to her mind.
She had been worried. She never wanted to go to far. Maybe that's why she'd dreamt about his hands. Because holding hands was innocent, it kept you together, but in a simple way. It you kept holding hands those hands couldn't really go anywhere else.
Maybe holding hands was the key to finally taking a relationship slow, who knew?
Maybe she was more worried about the friendship that was going into this, or maybe it was other worries. She had just been happy for him to finally hold her hand.
Oh and the warmth. It was no secret she never wore gloves but the feel of him palm pressed on hers, it was the complete opposite. It was one of those they warm me up while I cool them down things.
She turned over in bed finally falling asleep. Maybe tomorrow she would take him to the tattoo shop with her. She'd wanted somebody to hold her hand.