Soft and tender
I've always marvelled at your hands... The things they do, the emotions they evoke. When they're pleased, they caress me. Soft, tender, loving. When they are merry, they take my hands and spin me in circles over and over again until I collapse on the floor, giggling like a school girl. Happy, safe, bliss.
When your eyes appear soulless and a darkness descends, they choke me. Gripping my neck like a vice, squeezing harder and harder until reality is blurred and I pray for my demise. Fear, terror, anguish. When your anger consumes you, they fold into a fist and land blows on every part of me. Pummelling me with blind rage, oblivious to my screams, my cries for mercy. Dread, panic, despair.
As soon as it begins, it comes to an end and your hands caress once more, feigning repentance. I sit in silence, tears streaming down my face because I know now that my greatest marvel will be the death of me.