His hand on my face...
I used to sleep with a guy who fell asleep at night with his hand on my face. Not like flung across my face because that is where it landed either. I mean, spooning me with his hand cradling my face. It was sweet. Let me clarify as well that we literally slept together. That is all. It is not a euphemism for screwing.
Anyhow, this act of tenderness was profound. It belied my otherwise superficial and contentious relationship with him. He was my "bridge" guy. The guy between the man who broke me and the man who saved me. I used him as much as he used me. I worked some shit out on him without the confusion of sex. He worked some shit out on me and then decided he LOVED me. Whatevs....
Last night, after a sweet family Valentine's dinner of Italian food, my family went to bed and I stayed awake. When I finally turned in, Boyd was sound asleep with his arm flung over my pillow. I snuggled in and his hand landed, palm down, across my cheek. I nuzzled against his hand and felt the warmth of his fingertips on my cold cheek. I started thinking about how significant, the hand of a loving man, on the face of his loving partner, is. I started thinking about how much those hands have meant to me. How they have held my hands as we recovered from our miscarriages. How they held my hands as we awaited word on our baby Grace after her seizures. How he held my hand as we walked to the hospital after my doctor told me my neck was broken. And how he held my hand as he begged me not to die when I was going in to have my broken neck repaired.
His hands are amazing. His hands are precious. His hands are strong. He can hold up the heaviest of weights and bring me to my knees with the tenderest touch. I reach for Boyd's hand all the time. I love holding hands. The texture of his hands is the exact same texture as my Lea Jane's hands. Her hands are very strong.
A common scene in a movie about romance is the man putting his hand on the woman's face. It is such a simple gesture but it is more sexually charged and romantically stirring than just about anything else. I touch Boyd's face a lot. I must be subliminally demonstrating what I desire. Or maybe I just watch too much TV? Must be the years of soap operas. Call me "Young and the Restless". Please.... especially the young part. (tee hee)
I have successfully heightened my (and possibly your) awareness about the profound effect of a simple benign gesture that expresses a level of intimacy that many have spent lifetimes searching for. Craving for, at the very least. Even though Boyd was asleep, and completely unaware that he had set all this in motion, it still served its purpose. It reminded me of how much I love him. How lucky I am to have found him. How much his support and strength and partnership have meant to me.
I put my hand in his hand as we take on this life. I put our life in his hands as well. But all I really want to do is put his hand on my cheek, and lay with him. Because I love him.
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