I’ve got to hand it to you, you’ve got a way of catching detail.

Through the valleys of empty space and contours of hard work, the creases a map of your life always with you. You carry it with you, sometimes in your pockets, sporting gloves swinging in rhythm with your saunter, constantly searching. Searching for that perfect mesh. That moment when fingers interlock and the sensation travels straight up your arm and into your heart. Making all the callouses,  hangnails, and paper-cuts of life worth the wait. Finally you can entrust the map of your life to someone else and let them carry it for a while.