"Sooooooo....." She said, twirling a strand of her hair around her pointer finger of her left hand. My eyes lingered on to her delicate hand. Her hands were soft and the perfect thing to hold on to. There was a little brown mark on her wrist, so small that you had to look about five times to finally see it, but I managed to do that. The reason was definitely not the fact I could hold her hand and stare at it for hours on end, no. Not at all. (Though I would give anything to get that chance once in my lifetime). The reason was my line of vision that always started and ended at her hands. They were beautiful. And I loved it when she would use them to highlight her speech, it added so much effect. And I loved it when she would use them to write long, meaningless letters to her favourite singers that she would never post. And I loved it when she would use them to make her braids. And I loved it when she would use them to wipe away my tears, like the time I actually cried for my irrelevant first girlfriend. But she didn't laugh, nor did she say a word. She just talked with her eyes and those hands, wiping my tears and wrapping me up in her small but strong embrace, an over 6ft figure tucked into the embrace of a tiny 5'4". But it was worth it, so worth it. It was her and her little gestures and the things she did and her eyes that spoke and her hands that moved. It was all her.
"You listening, daydreamer?" Her laugh pulled me out of my world. I tore my glance away from her hand and looked at her. She glanced down on her hand, turning it around.
"Is there something on it?" She inquired.
I took her hand in my large one, squeezed it and let it go, shaking my head.
"No. What were you saying?"
YOU ARE READING
Little Things
Romance"I won't let these little things slip out of my mouth. Cause it's you, it's you, it's you, they add up to. And I'm in love with you."
