Four lines of prose that have something or other to do with: hands.
Kat and I went into town this evening to catch the (brief but still fun) Santa Claus parade. Haven't been to one of those in ages.
They are simple, rather ordinary hands. Wrinkled and slowed by the passing of years, but without noticeable scars or injury. Truly unremarkable in nearly every way, nothing to help them stand out from innumerable others.
But I don't need to see the wedding ring I placed on your finger to know they belong to you.