Dear Edmund:
My hands are small, really small, people are always saying how small they are. And your hands aren't small, Edmund, they are long, a bit thin, and beautiful, unlike mine, and so warm, unlike mine. But somehow, someway, they fit perfectly. My hand wasn't shaking anymore, and I noticed, like I have never noticed before. I noticed your hand under mine, hovering. I noticed the small, unintentional movements of your hand, and the small, unintentional movements of mine. I know the words, I have muttered them countless times, so I muttered automatically and I'm sorry, for not paying attention. But how can I? When your thumb does small, not so unintentional movements, caressing my fingers ever so slightly. My hand relaxed, which made my fingers fold a bit. Your hand relaxed too, and your fingers also folded. I dropped my hand just a bit, you raised yours, and they weren't hovering anymore. Edmund, are you holding my hand?
YOU ARE READING
Letters to Edmund
Não Ficção"Letters to you, even though you'll never get them" (This book is like a diary for me, everything that happens actually happens for real, so please respect my work and the characters because they are real people)
