the most beautiful thing: hands
The most beautiful thing about the evening was the the hands. Hands on hands, hands on cashmere, hands in bags, hands on glasses. They were everywhere, the hands… and nowhere at all. Drifting into the moments and out again and they were soft and sweet. Some tentative, some direct, the hands walked themselves into the hearts and picked up the thing waiting to be lifted. The hands said hello and goodbye, in pockets and on sleeves. The hands see all the ugly and beautiful and keep lifting.