“He closes his hand around mine and I hold on. I like his hand. It's big and holds easy but sure. It's the kind of hold that says, I got you if you want me, but I'll let you go if you feel like running for a while.”

“Don't let the hand you hold
hold you down.”

“And he understands. He understands why people hold hands: he’d always thought it was about possessiveness, saying This is mine. But it’s about maintaining contact. It is about speaking without words. It is about I want you with me and don’t go.”

“Can I hold your hand?" he asked.
I put mine in his.
"The universe is seeming really huge right now," he told me. "I need something to hold on to."
"I'm here.”

“He leans over and takes her hand. With the other he touches her face. ‘You your best thing, Sethe. You are.’ His holding fingers are holding hers.

‘Me? Me?”

“Like my mother said, you can't go back to holding hands”

“I would hold you up. I will ever hold you up and hold you dear, lover mine.”

“I don't like you
But I love you.
See that I'm always
Thinking of you.
Oh, oh, oh,
You treat me badly;
I love you madly.
You've really got a hold on me.
You've really got a hold on me, baby.”

“These arms of mine,
They are lonely.
Lonely and feeling blue.
These arms of mine,
They are yearning.
Yearning from wanting you.
And if you would let them hold you,
Oh how grateful I will be.”

“Billy squinted at me. "Why are you letting them go?"
"Because they're real."
"How do you know?"
"The one I was holding crapped on my hand.”