I like to watch her as she sleeps. I am confronted by how privileged I am. She has allowed me into her life, and I am so far in that there is no chance of me ever letting go. I couldn't. And to watch her now, it makes me realise what I missed in my life before Catherine was in it.

Perfection.

To me, she is perfection. I know that if Catherine were to get involved in this conversation she would mock me for saying I like to watch her sleeping. She would probably concentrate on telling me that I prefer her asleep because then she can't answer me back. That the only time I get to win an arguement is when she is either sleeping so she can't participate at all, or when she's exhausted and is too docile and weary to participate as she would like. But she only teases me like this because she knows and accepts the truth. She knows that long before I was allowed to watch her sleep, when my time with her was limited to work, she won all the arguements then too. She knows I love to watch her sleep because it makes me unreasonably happy that I can. That's the truth, I watch her sleep because I can.

But there is also the wonder of holding her hand. I'm doing it now. We've been watching TV. It's what I do on my nights off now, it's one of the things we do. Before Catherine let me into her life I would work on my nights off, I would always work. But now I have fun, and tonight that involved watching TV with my girl. I almost said girlfriend, but that simply wouldn't do justice to the feelings I have for this woman sprawled against me. This woman I love so much.

I know I should move us to our bedroom, it's late and I should make her more comfortable than she must be now. But I will be less comfortable, so I chose to prolong this pleasure a while longer. The pleasure of her head resting on my shoulder, her breath on my skin, her fingers entwined with mine. Her hand in my hand.

Her hand in my hand.

Holding someones' hand is such an intimate gesture, one I was denied for a long time. I think that I am making up now for all those years of lost contact, the years when I couldn't hold her hand.

There are so many emotions that can be expressed by the simple fact of holding someones hand. When I was a child my mother held my hand, she protected me when she did this. That's how I feel with Catherine.

But there is more.

When I took my high school girlfriend out, I held her hand. I did this because I liked how it felt to be with a beautiful girl, to be the one holding her hand. To be chosen. That's how I feel with Catherine.

But there is more. For although these feelings surge through me when I entwine my fingers with hers, no one can see. I like how it feels to be with my beautiful girl, but the statement has been for us alone so far. I will fix that soon. But still there is more.

When I took out my college girlfriend, I held her hand. I did this because I couldn't bear not to touch her, not to feel her elegant fingers against mine. That's how I feel with Catherine, I can't not touch her.

But there is more.

When the first woman I really loved held my hand, it was because she loved me. That is why Catherine holds mine. That is why I hold hers.

When I visited Catherine soon after she had Lindsey, I held her hand in awe. When there were no words to tell her what my heart was feeling for her miracle, I placed my hand in hers and communicated all I needed to. That's how I feel with Catherine now.

But there is more.

There will always be more. All of these feelings I've just described are present each and every time I hold Catherines' hand.

Just now, I can feel her pulse underneath my fingers. I can tell she is relaxed, she is at peace in my company. I know this to be true, of course, but this contact we have now lets the secrets of her body reassure me. I also feel her strength, her grip is strong and sure even in sleep. I feel her beauty, the softness of her skin under my fingers is bewitching, beautiful. Catherine.

Holding someones hand is a choice made. We can engage with the touch, or indulge the other person. Catherine and I can't help but to engage with each other. Our touch is a choice, a statement. It's a statement I want to make outside now. I need to do more than hold her hand while she rests. I'm afraid I need to hold her all the time. Need the connection we have now. I know Catherine feels the same way.

But tonight I am content to be with her, beside her, against her. Happy that my heart is in her hands.

the end.