His hand glides down my arm, folds over my hand. His fingers lace with mine, palms kissing. I can feel the fast thud of his heart through this single touch.

Isaiah grabs my hand and leads me away from the police...My heart stutters. He's holding my hand. A guy is holding my hand. Touching it. Like his fingers entwined with mine. I've never held a guy's hand before and it feels good. So good. Warm. Strong. Awesome. And it would only be a million times better if the guy holding my hand liked me.

Nothing, I learned, brings you into the present quite like holding hands. The past seemed irrelevant; the future, unnecessary.

Later, holding Milo’s hand in the dark, Jacob felt that it was only in recovering it that he learned what he had been in danger of losing. The touch of Milo’s hand seemed to remind him of parts of himself that he had already begun to forget about.

The hands on a clock move without regard to the hands you hold.

I didn't do the marching down the streets, jumping in front of the lines and holding hands... that wasn't me.