It’s not something I actively think about. His build. Mine. Our differences.
Oh, I can describe him. And I do. Often. In terms that make corporeal sense.
Not small, particularly. But never “big” ~ not to describe him; those words belong to me.
I am the sizable one.
I am weight and heft and strength and largeness. “Tall” (for a girl) and “athletic” and “built like a linebacker” are all words I have long associated with my physical form; vocabulary learned in childhood, I’ve carried those conditioned descriptors throughout my entire life. ‘Delicate’ and ‘dainty’ are not words with which I identify.
But once in a while, the opportunity arises to step back from my ingrained perceptions and change the lens through which I view my perspective.
This week it was his hands.
Seeing (and feeling – ohmyGOD did I feel**, and in the most delightful ways) the differences between us in a new way, brought home a new truth: Yes, I am a big girl. But sometimes, in some ways… Next to him, I am downright diminutive.
**sexy post forthcoming
Take a look at our hands.
Look at his hands.
Look at them.
Larger than mine.
My hands, when holding any part of him, have unimaginable power.
With great power comes great responsibility.
And today, reminded of that truth…
With loosely entwined fingers, I keep a tight reign on both.
In response to Patrick Jennings’ Pic and a Word Challenge: Diminutive