Her Hands

Her Hands

They reminded me of a time

when things seemed better.

Or rather, a time

where things seemed easier.

Each fine line and crevice,

revealed a new beginning

and in some cases,

signaled an unprecedented ending.

They reminded me of youth

that once beheld them.

Or rather, youth

that they once beheld themselves.

Each soft wrinkle,

telling a story of its triumph

and in some cases,

a tale of their downfall.

Her hands

they reminded me,

not so much of her anymore

but now, of me.