This post may get a PG-13 rating, so if you are easily offending, skip it.
The hands of a seventeen year old boy. I was taken with them immediately, because they were young, and smooth. Musician's hands - soft and feeling, and yet they were so strong and rugged at the same time. I watched them when we were together. I could see them when I closed my eyes. There was something about his hands.
The first time he took my hand in his, I went weak. Everything else went hazzy and it's all I could think about - my sweaty hand in his. I remember that moment so clearly, even now.
His hands touched me in places no other hands had gone, which only gave them more allure to me. When I watched them play the bass, or drive, or write, I thought of his hands on me, and smiled to myself, knowing a secret only he and I would ever know.
Later I would put a ring on his left hand, and make them mine. I would hold those wonderful hands in the most important moments of my life. During our wedding, when we were joined together forever. During our tearful goodbyes, when he would walk across that brow and down into the sub, and I knew I wouldn't see him for months. During bad news delivered by his gentle words and strong arms. During the conception of our children, when we took that step from a couple to a family. During the birth of our children, when our lives truly changed forever.
Now those hands are older, and yet I don't see a day of age on them. They are the same seventeen year old hands in my eyes. Now they rock our babies to sleep at night, and take out the trash. They still touch me and make me dizzy and weak. I look at them and see our life together.
In his hands I have literally placed my life. I knew the moment I saw them that they would love me, comfort me, protect me, and encourage me thru anything. There is no safer place to be than in his hands.
