When you look at my hands,
you see a glimpse of what once was;
you tell me to take care of my youth,
and you call them beautiful.
When I look at your hands,
I see lines of love and wisdom;
branches of my family tree
and the root of my identity.
I see hands gently cradling mine,
reminding me that it will be alright.
You’ve braved the world, yet
you make them home for me.
When I look at your hands,
I see a glimpse of who I want to be,
a dream of the future,
and I call them beautiful.
Photo Credit: news.wsfu.org