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Soul-mate (Skyra Rideaux- Carencro, LA)

Our bond and his hands remained a strong connection and kept me tethered to life. People who saw us together would smile at the warmth that emanated from our bodies; flowing through my hands into his. And always his hands would hold me closer than life itself, binding me to him, and him to me. We would sit and talk for hours about paved roads that used to be gravel, books he’d never read, and foods from foreign countries he would never visit. He inspired my love of music from decades before me, and together we would dance and sing, in a world created only for us. I can remember him, in the kitchen, his hands moving and creating foods he knew I would love. Sometimes I would open the door and he’d be standing next to the stove, his back to me. I’d tip toe around the table and squeeze him heartily from behind; his body would immediately react to my touch. His hands often calloused but always soft, would find mine and we’d stand there clinging to each other, our familiarity radiating between our fingers. He would turn slowly around, cupping my face, and kiss me on my forehead. I’d gaze up into his eyes; there were no tears, we’d been here before. He stole my heart the moment we met and from then on we became inseparable. It was always about him, the man who raised me from dust to dust, coated in marble, buried in darkness.
I once called him father.

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