My Grandpa once told me that you can tell a story about a person just by looking at their hands. That while the eyes are the window to the soul, the hands are linked to what you carry in your heart. 

Naturally, I asked him about my hands, and I can still remember the way he scrutinized them, looking over every curve of my skin stretched over the lean muscles that worked my fingers, before promptly huffing. 

"You're an observer. You've got no callouses because you prefer stepping back and watching. You're not a natural hard worker, and when it comes to people you..." He held his own hands out, wrinkled fingers wide, "You'd rather observe them than get your hands dirty in gettin' to know them."

For a few months, I was convinced he was insulting me, considering he lived in the mountains where the closest town was a good half hour's drive from his house, he had to do everything himself. But over time, it made sense. With everyone, I had one foot out the door. Even the girls I've dated. I never let myself get too close, I didn't know how to. I would find myself staring off into space at people, not even meaning to stare at them when I did.

He was right.

I was an observer. It wasn't an insult, but it sure as hell felt like I was hurting myself when it came to forming relationships.

But that's alright.

Watching people was easier than letting myself get hurt.