2 thoughts on “Give Me Your Hand…

  1. Shell… I just want to say that I really enjoy looking at… and thinking about… your paintings. I know that you pour yourself into them and I can see the creative energy that goes into each and every one. This that you created of your hand… and with your hands… inspired me to create a story around what it brought to mind as I studied it. I remembered a time when the touch of someone’s hand opened me up, breaking down my pride, and helped me to share… thank you for sharing your art.

    “…yeah you… got that something… I think you’ll understand… when I… say that something… I want to hold your hand” … The Beatles

    We sat across from each another on a winter’s day in a cozy little cafe as the sun began to set. It had been a cold and indifferent day for me though the sunshine did it’s best to cheer me up. No one I saw or spoke with seemed to care about anything but the plays they were rehearsing in their heads and so I was stuck with the one in mine and I didn’t like the way it had been playing out lately.

    I felt the touch of her hand before I saw her. She had been watching me as I crossed the parking lot and after I escorted her through a pair of doors I studied her movements as she found a table to her liking. She was so simply graceful… but a little careful too at times… in her motion. Kind of like she really wanted to let go and dance her way across the room but knew to take it slow… as she had always been told to slow down.

    But no matter how careful she was… she was always beautiful.

    I hadn’t seen her in a couple of months. We were both so busy lately. And we still each had our stubborn pride. Since we broke up and agreed we needed space we never seemed to be in the same place at the same time. She bit her lip a little as she studied my face. We ordered coffee and… “…surprise me with some kind of muffin!” she said to the waitress. I smiled at her and asked her if she ever had any good thoughts about me. She grinned and said that she doesn’t allow herself to think about me. I wanted to bite her lip.

    We first met nearly a lifetime ago in a bookstore, each with a book… ordered coffee… had a very pleasant talk… and even exchanged books!… she decided she wanted to read the one I bought and since it was the last one the store had I took hers as my own. I’ve read it twice and loved it even more the second time. The first time through I kept stopping to think about her and would lose my place in the book. I never did read the book that she had taken.

    The waitress brought us the “surprise” muffin (it was an apple and cinnamon)… and the coffees… and we ate in silence for a few minutes. She spoke first and said she was sorry she hadn’t returned my phone call and I said “which one?” and she laughed. All I kept thinking was “I’ve missed her so much”. She was still biting her lip when she wasn’t talking about something. She suddenly looked in my eyes as if she could read my thoughts and knew my loneliness the way I do.

    She reached across the table and said… “give me your hand”…

    All of the cold and indifference that I felt throughout the day melted away and I began to tremble slightly. She held my hand tightly and then took both of my hands in hers. I felt tears begin to well up in my eyes and I motioned outside with my head and soon we stood in the chilly night holding on to each other. I buried my head in her hair and moments later was tasting the sugary cinnamon on her lips and asking her if she has any good thoughts about me now. She smiled… and wiped a leftover tear from my cheek… and so I bit her lip.

    • I’ve read your love story countless times now…each time I discern a little something different in the words. Love that my hand painting inspired words to flow for you. It’s the gift of inspiration, that spark that comes to each of us when we least expect it. I am so glad you ran with it…a joy to read. Honored as always ~

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