There is something about this image that I love. I don't know what it is exactly but I can clearly see what it is not. It is not what I intended, this picture of my hand. It is not perfect, I resent that tag at my wrist. It is not composed perfectly, my hand at the center. But there is something there isn't there? Something of what it means to be touched and to touch, what it means to care for someone and be cared for. Some captured part of what it means to experience a moment that cannot be remembered perfectly, despite the perfection of the moment.