I clench my fingers and fight the urge to take your own in mine.
Last night you slept with one hand on my thigh, claiming it in the off-handed way a lover of decades might. It didn’t feel like you had rested your hand on me; rather the warmth from your slightly calloused skin became an extension of me, my skin tingling and disappearing into yours. For a moment, just an instant between breaths, I believed that if I shifted, pulled the muscles of my arms like puppet strings, it would be your hand that would move: you had become so much a part of me. Sometimes when we believe we would rather cling to the lie than test our faith and risk proving ourselves wrong; so I closed my eyes and practiced stillness.
You walk just a little too quickly. My steps are awkward trying to keep up. In the sunlight we’re acquaintances again. Half strangers, half friends, keeping each other company on our commute back to our real lives.
.
.
Image courtesy of Stuart Thursby. Stuart is an art director and photographer, currently adventuring in the wilds of Germany, where this photo was taken. To see more of his work, or to check out his portfolio, please visit StuartThursby.com.