i will admit to you, and only you, that i know more about your hands than i know about myself. i could feel the spaces between your fingers that i would fill with mine before you'd even grab my hand. i was willing to fill in all your empty spaces and the best place to start was your hands.
you would hold my hand and each time our fingers would tangle into the wrong position and we'd have to try again so your thumb rested against the outside of mine. that's how we fit best. your thumb rubbing soft circles onto my skin and while i was trying to fill your spaces, you managed to fill the gaps between my elbows and ribs.
you had big hands and we often compared the sizes of our hands. you could curl your fingertips right over mine. you made my hands look so small and for once feeling small made me only feel fuller.
i occupied your passenger seat like it was my second home, and your hand always held the inside of my thigh like the soft skin was your second home.
sometimes your hands would squeeze my sides just so you could hear me squeal.
some days i can still feel your fingers tangled into my hair or gripping both of my thighs. i could fit myself into your palms and with such delicacy you could handle me, but other times you left burn marks on my skin and sent volts of electricity through my spine. your hands managed to find themselves everywhere - as if you were marking your territory with each touch.
i was all yours - all my hard and soft edges willing to tuck themselves into your empty spaces - but your hands, oh those were mine.
