old hands

We are sitting on the sofa. I have just done the dishes. It was a lovely day. All of us together again, after a very long time. Megan finally had that haircut, and John is – so tall. They are all on their own. I guess they had to become parents themselves to make me realise that. I’m so proud.
And now… he…he  is so close to me. I can feel his body heat. He is watching something on TV so intently that he doesn’t even notice me watching him. He still has his stern look, and that spark in his eyes, and his skin is firm, considering. His hair is all gray now, even his beard. Ugh, he can make me so mad sometimes. Like today, when I’d specifically told him not to mention the neighbours, but he had to, because he had a point. And he always does. I hate that. But then again, I love it, as well.
All these years. They passed so quickly. Have I enjoyed them at all? Of course, but I could have enjoyed them even more, though. Who knows what it would have been like if I…but I don’t regret a thing. This, right here…
I  turn my head towards the TV. It’s some kind of a talk show – two guests and a host. They are discussing some current issues, one topic – two views. I smile. And I know what he is thinking. Like I always do. Well, almost always. I sigh.
Then… he takes my hand, places his fingers over mine. His hands are rough, and strong, but it feels nice. Squeezes them tightly, and then lets go. This, right here…
And he smiles, with his eyes still glued to the screen. And, I guess, sometimes, he too knows what I am thinking.


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