BEAUTY OF HOLDING HANDS
Some hands don’t just hold you They anchor you They hold you still, when everything moves. They remind you where you belong. They tell you, you’re home. They don’t flinch when life trembles. They stay. Not because they have to, but because they simply love you, for who you are. There’s a kind of beauty in holding hands in that small space between two palms a thousand unspoken things finding a home. A PROMISE. A PRAYER. A WORLD. A mother’s hand soft, worn, familiar reminds you of every time she held you through storms, how even silence can be safe and how someone can love your imperfections too. A father’s hand firm, steady doesn’t always say much, but in that grip is everything faith, strength, and an unspoken belief that you can handle this too. A lover’s hand feels like warmth after a long winter. It doesn’t promise to fix the world it just rests gently and says, I’m here, we’ll face it together. And then, there are hands that find you when you’ve ...
