So nobody's posted yet...I guess I'll go first. It's called "Hands", and it's probably about you.

It’s not something I tend to notice on a girl.

Actually, that’s a lie. But it’s only something you notice unless it’s really wrong, otherwise it’s just minutiae. Like a shirt tucked into your underwear, or a bad cheeseburger. It's a piece of meat you roll around your mouth until you decide to spit it out.

Her hands were easily eclipsed by mine. My thumb larger than her littlest finger; the flesh under her fingernail a fine pink. Diminutive and perfectly proportioned like a Hollywood actress, it felt like i was warming up for a game I wasn't going to play anyways. I rolled it around for a while.

I’ve seen small hands before, no doubt. Hands of a child on the body of a woman. Thumbs with impossibly small finger nails that you think, “are these of any actual use?” I’ve held hands that gripped back as I pulled them closer.

Hands long and slender of white porcelain china. Hands of week old black nail polish. Rustic. Real. Lived in.

Hands of naivety and questions. Hands in love with Dora the Explorer colouring books. Hands Being For the Benefit of Mr. Kite.

Hands where everything is so new that they are nothing but a pure symphony of sensory ecstasy. Hand and foot in mouth.

No, these weren't the hands I was looking for, but I held on anyways.