Fiction & Poetry

A Writer Covered in Leaves by Sam Abelow

I never noticed in the year I’ve known her, often taking strolls in the park, on one occasion sitting at the beach, that her hands were exceptionally delicate. They grasped the dog’s leash with simple grace. The truth is, I would have rather, with humility and modesty, held her hand, in some sort of display of affection, which I find stirring in her presence— that is, either in my thoughts, or in life. Instead, I only managed to comment on the characteristics of her hand and hold it for a brief moment. In the circumstances of which I continually find it impossible to initiate intimacy of any sort, I settled for these observations

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