Mens et manus

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Mens et manus

I was thinking, a little nostalgically I suppose today about people I have loved. And the oddest thing occurred to me, something I have briefly pondered before but really examined today: I remember hands.

Some people remember a lover’s eyes, lips, hair, voice, whatever.

Poets write of lips and hips.

“Eyes are the windows to the soul….”

Not for me. I had to really try to think of some people’s eye colors who I should just KNOW but their hands? I can instantly picture them:

How they looked.

How they felt.

If they had callouses or not, and where.

The shape of their nails.

Length of their nails.

Size of their hands.

Whether they chewed their nails or not.

Scars on their hands.

Tattoos on their hands.

Rings that they wore.

Whether their palms were smooth or always wrinkled.

How they held a cigarette.

How they played a guitar.

How they held onto a steering wheel or a gear shift.

Whether they were right-handed or left.

Just a casual thought that makes me smile, I wanted to share.

 

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