So it is.
Daylight came through the window. Obscured by the clouds, the sun just looked like any other freak on the main street by midnight. Still, she enjoyed when the sun covered her with its warmth and yellowish color. As a kid in third grade, she used yo draw little animals in the summer afternoons of July; her world's garden was never so big, anyway. All her drawings included a tall white man she used to draw, always with a smile and old clothes. Its big hands always were as big as her. On that particular morning, she looked at her fragile hands and half painted purple nails and remembered of those other hands, big as her face. Perhaps she had learned some lessons from those big ol' hands. No point realising the past, actually. Her past never mattered for anyone, anyway.
But there was something on that cloudy sleepless morning that, despite the bleak sun, reminded her of the white house in the fields. (Talking about past again...) Called John the one by her side, at least that was what they've told each other for some days. John never knew, and will ever know, about the white wood house, homemade toys and those big hands. She used to sleep on those hands, so small as she always was. John had medium size hands, as she measured once, very discrete as she was, on some other evening. His fingers were not so big and, surprisingly, were as neatly done as hers. Anyway, that suited well for her, exactly what she thought she needed.
John, as far as she knew, was another dreamer, the one that write poems and have a long curling hair. And medium size hands, of course. He even wrote a poem for her, meaning that she was just what he needed. At that morning she looked at the poem, somewhere between her books, and read through it once more. He was smart, indeed. Cute boy, so talented. There were something usual for her on those words, something she always kept distant. Words are too easy, are a matter of negotiation. John is such an easy word, along with many others.
John, your hands are not that big. Still, you are here, and it is all. John's words could never touch her, that was the truth.
She never slept that night by John's side. There was something heavy on her. She never found that big ol' hands, whenever she was. And she just realised she would never find them apart from home.
And so it was.
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