All I can write about lately is writing or thinking and it's kind of ironic because they go hand in hand... so I've been feeling like I've been holding onto the same set of hands for too long in fear that they're the only hands that have ever opened up in my direction. At least recently. Or maybe they're the softest, or the most comforting. Maybe they're the hands of the man that I love. Either way, I don't think I ever want to let go of these hands, and I think that's okay. I think it's okay to find a home and coin it your own. Why wouldn't it be?