Sometimes, late at night, when the World around me has gone radio silent, I take my hands from under the covers and hold them high in the air.
Then, when the moment is just right, I join them . In hopes that the action of hand holding won't be foreign for me when the chance presents itself to me.
Yet no matter how many times, no matter the hour - the action is never right.
And in some way, it makes me feel even more alone.
Edited by Harlan