my hands would like to thank your hands for the time we were drunk out of our minds but your hands knew enough to hold, not grab to hold, not push to hold, and hold on.
my hands would like to thank your hands for being constants, not variables. for having a thermostat so perfect, holding hands is like entering a fire-warmed cabin after a snowstorm - and youβre the only light around for miles.
but most importantly, my hands would like to thank your hands for keeping other things from my hands; things that shouldnβt be found in hands, like the last cigarette or a sharp pointy object -
and the last time it was desperation that got the better of me;