Your Hand

Stroking your hand, it's hard to guess the whereabouts of your soul. Your hand is soft like nothing I have touched before. Your thoughts meander where they've never been until this day. You're old but everything about your quiet state is new. I try to walk in this unthinkable world. I feel. I try to learn the laws that govern this reality. Your blood is less red than yesterday. The room is full of snow. Words keep their meaning to themselves. They lose their grip. I hold your hand. 

Your hand is warm. 

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