Hands

Donathen my love,
Your hands. Your fingers, long and slender. Soft except for the callouses at the tips. How talented your hands were. Building, sound-proofing, re-finishing, waxing wood. Innovative. Talent beyond anyone that I know now on earth. Hands that played guitar, and piano. Hands that recorded and mixed and burned. Hands that caressed and massaged, and held mine. Hands that did not stop comforting me, even in your last bed. Stroking my hair. Rubbing my back. Comforting me was your last token of love. Your hands are so beautiful. I cannot forget them. How I miss them.