Her hands were heavy. Thick fingered and unadorned, her rough and ragged nails spoke to me as they signed before my eyes. Flashing eloquently, their very commonality heightened the beauty of her movement. I realize I'm eavesdropping and I drop my eyes, embarrassed. But I'm still hungry for more.
Olives off the branch. I smell the ocean. God, I’m starving.
I run my hand along the planks of the wooden, unfinished table- letting the imperfections catch along my fingertips and caress my palms. I press down and memorize the grain. I'm very aware of where my body connects me to the chair, down to the deck, to the street, to the earth. God, I’m happy.
The weight of his arm draped over my shoulder and the warmth of his side calls to mind the aqua blue sparkle of his eyes. Have you ever noticed how everyone's eyes are beautiful? I don't need to see them to know they are wide open and curious. Watching the musicians who are intimately watching each other- communicating without words.
Becoming a silence.
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