What the Hand Knows

Salomon lightly touched his cheek with the tip of his fingers, slowly caressing it over and over, as if his hand was that of a lover’s.

“Who will ever want to touch my face and hold me in a gentle caress?”

His pillow never replied, yet he still made his queries to no one in particular. Slowly his fingers reached his brown hair, melding with his curls. With practiced grace, he lifted locks of his hair and began to comb it to the side.

“I love you.”, he whispered softly in the darkness. No one replied.

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