My hand is over yours, my palm on your knuckles and our fingers resting along eachother in straight, even lines, threaded very lightly, loosely. My thumb, wrapped around to your palm, is the support as I guide your hand to the object you want to see, standing behind you with my chin on your shoulder and my arm trailing down yours as we connect down to our hands. Our hearts are connected in the deep, though, in a place where you can see them, but have to dig to reach them.

Your hand, our hands, hover over the frame. My thumb unwraps, my fingers pull from their entanglement, and I let go. My hand moves to grasp your shoulder, my chin still nestled between neck and shoulder on your form. I watch as you lower your hand through what you must think of as empty space, being as you do not have eyes atypical of sight. This does not sadden or dishearten you. You want to see the picture. Have to.

You lower your hand until your fingers brush the edge of the frame. You hesitate, unsure if it is the right object, and I turn my head and nod into your neck. This makes you smile, and air rushes from your nose as you let out a low, airy chuckle that only I can hear. Confident, now, you run your hand along the edge of the object, slowly, until the side of your hand touches the table. That is when you wrap your fingers around its edge, your thumb only barely touching the glass that protects the photo inside.

“What does it look like?” you ask, tilting your head to the side until it rests stop mine comfortably. I smile, moving my head slightly to look at it so that I can describe it as accurately as possible.

“It is warm and welcoming like a fire, and the colors similar to one as well. The trees look like they are burning in the sunset flames, with their bright leaves dancing in the wind and swirling about us in our coats. Yours is the one with many buttons all down the middle, the one you love to wear because I love to slip my fingers between them when we kiss. I am doing this in the picture, kissing your cheek.”