No one knows your hands like I do. They are legendary, most certainly, and though few may know I am the one that had given them that name back when it all began, no one knows the real reason for that title. They may think they know, but no one knows your hands like I do.
Yours are hands that can heal and revive. Your patients know them to be skilled in every medical sense of the word and might believe this to be the reason for their name, but they do not know the extent to which they have healed and revived my tired, broken spirit. They do not know because no one knows your hands like I do.
I know the details of those hands, each line and each scar, each callous and each vein. The topography of these ridges and valleys has been seared upon my memory from the innumerable caresses this tangible map has laid upon my skin. No one knows how that touch can be as firm as it is gentle, as rough as it is tender. No one knows because no one knows your hands like I do.
Your hands are legendary, that is widely known, but the name has broadened to encompass a veritable sundry of skills you have mastered. No one knows I had named them as such because they were the first hands that had taken me apart so beautifully and had remained to put me back together again. No one knows that I had christened them as such because they were the first hands that fit with mine like a lost piece of myself coming back to me. No one knows that I declared them as such because they were the first hands that held my heart without breaking it. No one knows because no one knows your hands like I do