On Sunday afternoon we had forty five minutes to fit in a workout of some sort before a gallery speaking engagement I had scheduled. We took to the neighborhood streets and their heart-rate-rising hills to get the blood flowing and our minds (well, my mind anyway) up and humming.
As we approached the first hill at a fast clip I realized we were holding hands, not an unusual occurrence in these days of the I-like-you-close-to-me-as-much-as-possible-because-you-are-the-best-thing-ever phase (which I hope isn’t a phase, but just the normal, every day, forever-way we will be together).
As we began puffing our way up the first hill I asked,
Do people usually hold hands when they’re working out?
Without hesitation he replied,
They do when they’re in love.
I stopped walking, kissed the hand that was held in mine and returned his honest, blue-eyed gaze.
It’s surprising, to me, this sort of blatant love. Quite often his verbal declarations leave me speechless. Holding hands is often the right way to wordlessly express such new and profound emotions that are only just now making their way in to my vocabulary.
Fingers entwined, subtle pressure, exchanged body heat; hand holding, like giving flowers, is such a simple way to show love.
