BEAUTY OF HOLDING HANDS
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 forgotten how to reach out.
They remind you that love isn’t always loud
sometimes it’s just steady.
Sometimes, it’s the hand that doesn’t let you go
when everything else does.
Some hands teach you what softness feels like again.
Some make you believe in hope,
in the quiet possibility that not everything leaves.
And some simply exist beside yours,
saying nothing
yet healing everything.
Maybe that’s what makes hands so sacred.
They’re the first thing we hold when we arrive,
and often the last thing we reach for when we leave.
Between those two moments,
life becomes a series of touch
a language beyond words,
a kind of love language,
a reminder that connection itself is divine.
Because some hands know how to stay
not forever, not always,
but long enough
to remind your heart what it means to be held.
Raman ✨
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