When we were younger, Burt’s hand clasped firmly over mine was a source of pleasant comfort.
My hands are small; when we were holding hands, Burt’s hand enveloped mine.
Holding hands is a way that those in love signal belonging.
Over these last years we spent together, I truly admired his hands.
Burt had long, narrow tapering fingers. The hands of an artist, a musician, of a man with beautiful hands. His hands were elegant.
Burt was also very strong; he had tensile strength. He could grab and hold on with a surprising grip. It was not the firmness of his handshake, but the delicacy of his hands that impressed me.
Burt’s hands took care of me. He took care of me.
this is our life 