The Rain On Monday

Written words are the only thing my mind can find ease in.


18. Hand Holding


Smoke lingers in the air, still, from the rude madman gaiting in front of us.

Our hands are clasped together very tightly, but with you, it wasn’t awkward.

It didn’t matter if your palm grew hot or sweaty, because holding hands with you was different.

We didn’t have to make a huge deal of it like other couples, who swung each other’s hand, just to keep from getting bored.

I never got bored with you.

We could go to the cinema and entangle our hands in one position, then at the end of the film they could still be the same, untouched way, but it’d feel like one second.

You and I never really talked about the whole holding hands thing.

It just sort of happened one day, and I never mentioned it, ever, because I knew if I did you would stop.

We were at a fancy, golden restaurant, when you reached over with your right hand and intertwined our fingers.

I didn’t even look down, I just kept staring at you, and that’s exactly what you wanted.

You and I were meant to be.

We both knew it; but now, our days of hand holding are sadly over.

Every time I look at my hand, I am reminded of you by the empty spaces between my fingers.

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