I am a leg-shaker, a nail-biter, a wrist-wringer and a gum-chewer, but my palms never get sweaty.
So sorry if I smile when our hands brush and I notice your skin is slick with anxiety.
Sorry if I laugh when you pull away, self-conscious.
I wear my worry on my sleeve. It’s cute to know you worry too,
albeit in drops of sweat puddling your palms.