A silent ritual, a whispered plea,
fingers intertwined, a fragile lattice of hope.
We bend them, contort them, these extensions of our will,
as if their awkward posture could sway the universe,
as if a physical knot could bind fate to our desire.
Is it misbelief, a relic of ancient fears,
a tactile appeal whispered to unseen forces?
Or a desperate act...
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