What I liked about him was not his face, his figure, his wealth, nor was it his smile, then was it his style or his background? No, it was his hands. His hands that played the violin, the hands that played the piano, those hands that were always warm even in the coldest of nights, those hands that gave me strength, security and support. What I loved about him were his hands that wrote me letters of love and kindness, that took care of me in my times of sickness and need, yes, what i loved most is just that. Those skeleton hands that are thin and long, bumps on the joints revealing the shape of his bones that looked so cruel, but that were kind and warm like the sun, strong and resiliant like a knight's armor and soft and tender like a mother's touch, those skeleton hands that reached for me... and in the darkness... held me...