A woman’s hands tell a story. Her journey, a masterpiece, beautifully painted line by line, with each spot and every vein in its perfect placement. I remember staring at my mom’s hands as a child, watching her tap the steering wheel of the car with her knuckle rings to the beat of whatever song was playing, knowing that mine would someday look just like that; I couldn’t wait. I remember the first time I was told I looked like her. It was the response to a side-by-side photo of us, both smiling, cheekbones pronounced, every line on my mom's face exposed, showcasing her beauty in a way I had never noticed. The thought of growing into a woman with that kind story etched so wonderfully on her face, with signs of a life filled with deep belly laughter and adventures many wouldn't believe; once again, I couldn’t wait.
A photo posted by Nikki Reed (@iamnikkireed) on
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