For the entrapped friends…

Latrakia

For  the entrapped friends…

Whose bodies became their prison…

Who lost their will and desire to live…

For those friends that my hands are bound tight  and i can not help them…

Days passing by and they lose their mind, feeling alone and desperate…

Their bodies ravaged and isolated…

Don Quixotes of a dream, for a dream…

They were insisting fighting windmills for a lifetime…

Respect…

Silence…

Priceless hands!

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They give hugs, they touch with tenderness or coarseness, they drive dexterously away the sorrow, they give generously and sweepingly happiness. Occasionally could cause pain, perpetually communicate with their own language.

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Vital touches by hands, to my hands, to my body. Unbearable life without hands touching me, embracing me, show me their love! All the special hands of my beloved people. They taught me to share feelings in silence out of the need to talk.

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Different types of hands, distinctive kinds of touch. Hands skinny and slender or on the contrary fat and more velvet. Other times rough like stone or fragile and delicate like glass. Skillful hands, sometimes exquisite, others clumsy and graceless, always lovable.

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Treasured, small hands from perfect, tiny people…

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All my life priceless hands, unforgettable, constantly expressing their idiosyncratic uniqueness!