Hands were meant for holding it seems, and long have been the standard for acceptable public displays of affection… holding hands.
Walking down the street.
Heading into the restaurant.
Watching the movie.
Waiting for your meal to be delivered to your table.
All these times of holding hands are special and wonderful events of simple love.
When observed from a nearby viewer who has no hand to hold, it could bring sadness or hope, but the hand-holders wouldn’t know.
But when we get back home.
When we are alone on the sofa.
Watching that favorite show, or movie, or listening to the Piano music on Spotify, that most intimate of times has arrived.
The time for holding toes.
You have beautiful toes.
I’ve said it many times, and it’s clear it may embarrass you, but the fact remains, I love those toes.
When your neuropathy is overwhelming and I rub your feet, I pay attention to those toes.
When I’m pursuing your love, when I want to make it ultimately clear just how much I love you, I kiss those toes.
The amazing thing about toes is how important they are to how we move.
Dancing. Posture. Balance. Walking, running, jumping. All dependent on the toes.
I love watching you dance.
I love watching you walk, to me… and away from me.
I love how you glide across a room like a perfectly balanced high-wire tight-rope walker.
It makes my soul want to walk with you on the not-so-beaten path and see what none has seen before.
It makes my heart jump like the silly frog leaping from pad to pad in the pond.
It makes me want to run to you again and again and again.
I’ve said it over and over, until I’m sure you must tire of hearing it, but once again… I love your toes.
When we’re laughing, when we’re crying, watching that favorite show, when the lights around the pool have waned to just a faint glow… it is the touch of your toe that I crave.
That one last touch at night before I go off to sleep, that first hello as morning breaks again, it is the touch of your toe that I crave.
For me, forever, it will be… about… touching toes.