Your hands.

God, I loved your hands. They weren't anything special, if I'm being honest, but they were big and soft, with the slightest hint of age. They were comforting, especially when I held them.

I could put your wrist to my ear for hours and listen to the soothing rush of the blood flowing through it, lulling me to sleep on nights when sleep seemed so out-of-reach.

Just like I used to, before you'd left.

I miss the way your hands stroked my head; your hands, they were magical. They even cooked the best food. Food whose taste I always foolishly took for granted, because no other cooks like you.

And no over ever will.

✿