I’ve never been one to think of myself as attractive or handsome or anything like that. Nor have I gone to the other extreme… But I must admit that there’s something about my hands that I love. Not just my hands, actually, but the area just below my elbows to my fingertips.
I’m not sure what it is exactly, but I think that part of it stems from the gifts of love that my hands create—even when I put my hands through HELL. I hit my fingers with the hammer when I’m working with wood. I polish my fingernails away while making jewelry. I burn my hands when cooking. I create thick leathery callouses on my fingertips when I play my instruments. But none of these things really seem to matter.
My hands are not soft and smooth, but neither are they hard and rough. They are heavy and strong, but not extraordinarily large. They are typically clumsy, but have never failed to do the work I’ve sent their way.
For the most part, my hands are free. My left wrist is embellished by a simple bracelet, and on that hand, I also wear a simple gold and platinum wedding ring. I used to wear watches, but in more ways than one, that proved to be overpowering and restrictive. For some time, I decorated the back of my left hand with intricate tattoo-like drawings which washed off in a couple of days. They were beautiful, but so temporary. They added very little to the overall character of my hands.
I could go into the details about the wrinkles and scars and blemishes that make my hands one of the body parts that I really find attractive. But I wouldn’t even know where to begin….
Besides, my hands are very modest and won’t let me write such flattering words….
No related posts.
My Hands
I’ve never been one to think of myself as attractive or handsome or anything like that. Nor have I gone to the other extreme… But I must admit that there’s something about my hands that I love. Not just my hands, actually, but the area just below my elbows to my fingertips.
I’m not sure what it is exactly, but I think that part of it stems from the gifts of love that my hands create—even when I put my hands through HELL. I hit my fingers with the hammer when I’m working with wood. I polish my fingernails away while making jewelry. I burn my hands when cooking. I create thick leathery callouses on my fingertips when I play my instruments. But none of these things really seem to matter.
My hands are not soft and smooth, but neither are they hard and rough. They are heavy and strong, but not extraordinarily large. They are typically clumsy, but have never failed to do the work I’ve sent their way.
For the most part, my hands are free. My left wrist is embellished by a simple bracelet, and on that hand, I also wear a simple gold and platinum wedding ring. I used to wear watches, but in more ways than one, that proved to be overpowering and restrictive. For some time, I decorated the back of my left hand with intricate tattoo-like drawings which washed off in a couple of days. They were beautiful, but so temporary. They added very little to the overall character of my hands.
I could go into the details about the wrinkles and scars and blemishes that make my hands one of the body parts that I really find attractive. But I wouldn’t even know where to begin….
Besides, my hands are very modest and won’t let me write such flattering words….
No related posts.