Her hands,

Her hands were small,

The kind of hands you press up against your own in disbelief of their size,

Her hands were cold,

The kind of hands you hold with both of yours and bring towards you blowing hot air on in attempt to warm them,

Her hands were pale,

The kind of hands you find throwing a snowball or

Hanging

Gently

Off

The

Side

Of

A

Table

A

Metal

Table

Her hands were still,

The kind of hands that

Dont

Have

A

Pulse

Her hands were dead