That night I took hold of his hand,
he held it as if he was reminiscing
on what connection felt like,
before he let go,
as though my veins were roots,
burrowing into the palm
of his secrets.
I know I taught you to hold on to everything that disappears, too tightly.
I convinced you each time that things would be different.
But, I also taught you that you had fire in your fingertips and fight in your fists.
I taught you that no matter how much it would hurt you couldn’t give up.
Nothing that would be worth it would come easy.
Sometimes you have to learn that you have to hold on in order to teach others that letting go is the easy way out.
I never wanted you to be the hand that let’s go. I taught you to fight.
I fear you’re letting me go.
I remember the days when I would sketch you over
I followed your angles like the path home.
I fear I sketched you to remember your glory.
Together we have learned to heal. Your touch, my heart.
We’ve been the security for small hands searching for the hand that will never let go. The drier of tears. The creator of visual representations of all we see. The writer of words gone unspoken. The lover who cherished touching his body like the gilded treasures it possessed. The dancing fingertips playing silent music.
You have been my connection to the world. You allow me to experience my feelings in the flesh. You are the past, the present and
I need you to be the future.
I know I taught you to hold on too tightly. I know these days your hold is growing tired.
Don’t let go. I promise I will never let you hold to anything I know will disappear any longer. I promise to take more care to recognize what you need. I promise to not push you too far. I promise to never let go. So please, don’t let go.
We have tears to dry. Lips to touch. Small hands to hold. New places to experience through our fingertips. Rain droplets to collect in our palms. Skin to caress like the welcoming light of the moon on water.
We have hands to find that will never let go of ours. So please, don’t let go.
I taught you to fight. I taught you to fight with love and commitment. So please, don’t let go.
The cursor blinks patiently waiting for me to formulate a stream of consciousness which is unlikely to occur in a manner that can be placed into a structured piece of writing.
I always seem to battle the same war of understanding when it comes to other humans. I would venture to say that all humans desire to be understood, loved and accepted for exactly who they are at their core… . . Not the things that lie on the surface, like your job, your hobbies, the places you have visited, opinions on politics or the weather. Everyone can discuss these things but those things don’t get at the root of who we are. Many people never ask the questions that matter.
What does the sunrise remind you of when the sun warms your skin? What have you felt when your hand grazes a new place? Could you feel the history send chills up your spine through your fingertips? Do the stars remind you of every wish you have ever made? Whose hand do you wish you were holding on your loneliest night? or Have you learned to hold your own hand knowing it will never let go? Do you leave the comfort of home to find yourself or to run from it? How have you healed yourself from the wounds of love lost? or Have you fooled yourself into believing your heart is free? What is the place you have never allowed another soul to touch? or Have you been touched by dirty hands too many times in hopes someday one person will touch you with security?
Fear. It must be fear. Why else would we hide behind shallow exchanges?
I sit in silence at times looking for hidden clues behind spoken words. I watch for micro expressions that peak behind the mask of protection.
But, many times I don’t ask the questions I really want to know out of fear of being judged for not fitting into the box society says one should. We are taught not to open ourselves up to others. We are taught to fear true intimacy, which comes from a balance of verbal, emotional and physical connection and to settle for physical exchanges.
Too many people spend so much time working to break people down and to belittle them out of their own insecurities that in the end the only thing being broken down is personal growth.
Occasionally, I will encounter another soul who allows me to read their story page by page cherishing each word in its honesty. However, it’s fleeting these days to find someone who trusts enough to present their book to you with open hands.
These thoughts lead me to question whether I am in fact the outlier. The hexagon, as I of late have referred to myself.
We have all been hurt. Some more than others. Maybe we all have a 50/50 chance of either becoming completely closed off or completely open. One afraid to be touched again and one who risks being hurt over and over again to find the person who will kiss the wound with tenderness.