Hands on Hearts

storytellers

The fingers easily hold a guitar pick or a pair of adoring hands.

Their long, slender build makes them ideal for the music he makes. They tap nonchalantly on his leg, playing the rhythm of a song that is still forming. They are quick and agile and they are worn. The fingertips are calloused from the strings of the guitar, from hours and hours of weaving chords into music, into melodies.

He does not realize how his hands have grown with him over time. His actions have been ingrained into his muscle memory in the same way that he will always remember how to ride a bike. The hands just know what they are doing without being told. The notes his hands play are instinctual; they direct themselves, each finger finding its own position as his eyes close and his head tips back. His hands are flying. They are like his heartbeat.

His hands tell the stories imprinted on his soul, the ones he doesn't quite know how to put into words.