Hands.

"You're going to need to put that in your other hand because you're going to hold my hand.....nnnnnmmmmmmkkkeeeh?" I say.

"Why?" He asks.

"Just...cause." Was my elaborate response.

I didn't want to say that I was afraid. And nervous. Because this was real now. I'm really growing up and going to college. I'm applying to hospital jobs. I was about to spend lots of money on books. And find my classes. And hope that I would be able to keep good grades all semester.

Of course, my sweet boyfriend didn't think another thing of my strange behavior, and just gently squeezed my hand as we approached the bookstore.

I dunno what it is. But whenever i feel scared, or nervous, or uptight, or happy, holding his hand can be an expression of how I feel. Sometimes it's a security, just like a childhood blanket. Sometimes it's an expression of love. Like saying "hey boy. i love you with my whole heart. like my myocardium is yours." Sometimes it's reassuring. Like saying. "hey boy. You can do this. be brave. you're my hero." And sometimes it says "hey boy. I'm really freaking the hell out right now. I'm losing my shit. help me hold it together."

My sweetheart has nice big manly hands. They are both longer and thicker than my own, which is nice, because I'm basically big foot of hands...



I really feel so blessed that God gave us hands. I know it sounds weird. But a lot is interpreted through touch. I paint. With my hands. I write. Using my hands. I play the piano, violin, and guitar, using my fingertips. I hold Bubba's hand....with my hands. Cool, i think.

Or maybe I'm getting really tired.


I had a good day with him today. Another day that reminds me how blessed. How truly blessed I am to be in the middle of an incredible love.

Dave even holds my hand when he's a seat in front of me on the airplane (:

(I love this boy)

I'm the luckiest girl in the world.












































I love you sweetpea.