I just wanted to hold your hand. I loved the way your hand encased mine. I loved sticking my thumb into the little pocket our hands made when they were together.
I wished you would make a little room for me in your life like the way our hands made a little room for my thumb when they were clasped together. You interlaced the fingers of your life with a hand that wasn’t mine.
I just wanted to hold your hand, to feel the warmth of your palms transfer to mine. My hands got cold when I was nervous. When I told you that, you replied, “That’s perfect because I’m always warm.” Literally, yeah. You were a warm body. But you were actually really cold and always out of reach.
In the end, I needed to let go of something I never really held.