A Simple Handshake

I've been thinking about it a lot more lately.

The handshake, I mean.

Ever since I realized how much he means to me, I've been thinking about it. How he taps my fist, then I tap his. Then our fists hit, equal.

It probably doesn't mean anything, but everything about it seems equal, friendly, carefree. I wonder if he'd be like that in a relationship. Something more then friendship, I mean.

I've done it so many times that I don't even think about it anymore. When we meet, when we part, when something good happens. When we're cool with each other.

We could be a commercial for world peace. My fist, pale as a dead fish, and his, black as night meeting equally.

I think that's one of the things I love about him. Everything, everyone, is equal. Not exactly the same, but treated as though they were. And not in an evil, kill them all way either.

I've been thinking about it a lot more lately.

The handshake, I mean.


Okay, I know, majorly random. I finished with the same lines I started with, and I used the word equal a lot…but it just fit, you know? Any ways, this little drabble was something I came up with one the ride to school this morning when I was thinking about what the handshake could symbolize, and this ficlet popped into my brained and begged to be written. R&R, please!