Holding Hands

A hand that's soft as the blankets she holds close to herself in the night. Shivering in even the most slight of cold, yet exhibiting a warmth of which can only be felt by the heart. A palm that, if tickled, lets loose the most healing of laughter. A laugh which is but only one of many delightful laughs, yet all come straight from her soul. A hand that connects with mine as she walks next to me. Holding my hand with a grip that says "We Belong," Whether in the halls, the street, or at home. A hand such as this, I will forever adore.