As my fingertips on one hand traced the lines of the open palm of the other, I suddenly recognized them both as old childhood friends. It felt like years since I’d seen them. I held them up. They looked at each other, then at me. There were many things I could have asked them, but they seemed so sensitive and shy, I only nodded and kept silent, thinking, Perhaps another time. It was a beautiful reunion. And then they wrote these words to remember them by.
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Categories: A Few More Scratches
Tags: Childhood, Fingers, Hands, Memory, Old Friends, Reunions, Writing
William Michaelian 