You think about his hands sometimes, about all the things they do.
Cradle a beating heart, coax life back into a still body.
Open the vial, finger the pills, just one more, today's a bad day.
Always busy. Piano keys, tennis ball, anything to keep them occupied so he can Just. Think.
You have seen them strike out in anger.
But they have also wiped away your tears.
They have danced across your body the way they dance across his piano.
Pressing in to you, claiming you, taking you higher until your entire world exists solely in
His hands.