Hands Absent, Yet Present | Emmett Hudak

    Wrinkled, withered hands bruised by even the slightest touch. They remain feeble and decrepit. His hands are forever incapacitated by relentless, pernicious afflictions that never know when to cease. A boy stood by his bed and caressed his hands, yearning to feel that connection of love and heart-warming tenderness between them for one last time. However, the boy felt the man’s hands tremble in utter fear and apprehension, terrified of his inevitable future that awaits him in the next…
    Now, born again, his hands are glorified and radiant, hovering over his beloved kin. His hands are so vigorous and so beautiful, yet absent. They rest upon our shoulders now, guarding and preserving, yet absent. They rest in a place where the sun never stops shining, where your soul never stops glowing, yet absent. 
    “Shall you and your hands always remain present yet invisible to me,” the boy said, gazing at the sky. With a gust of wind as strong as a hurricane, and as calm as an ocean breeze, the boy realized that the man was trying to tell him something. Within him, beside him, and above him, the boy will sense the man passing by noise