I used to be afraid of this thing called love. I would make up these excuses to never come close to it or my emotions were never clear enough for me to truly open up to anyone. Lust over love, I secretly told myself, but deep down I hoped that lust and love would be one.
I once held hands with a man, no, actually he was a little boy. I once held hands with a boy who couldn’t keep his paws off my chest and trailing up and down my thighs. He touched the left side décolletage and I told myself, he must like me because that is where the heart is. It’s so close to the palm of his hands, he must want to hold it. But he did not.
I once held hands with a guy for half a night. We intertwined our fingers till three in the morning and laid on his bed till my best friends called. His hands never wandered and his lips only touched my cheek, my forehead, and my lips. And he tried to hold me and I wanted him too, but it was only for half a night. One of the most memorable half of a night I’ve ever had.
I once held hands, well linked arms with a guy I thought was a man. I mean, he was definitely old enough to be considered one but he, too, ran. I guess I wasn’t “mature” enough. But who’s the immature one who ran like his life depended on it? No calls. No texts. I wonder where he’s running to now.
I once held hands with a boy I should never have given a chance too. They say love is blind and now when I look at him, so was I. He held my hands and told me sweet nothings and after so many runners, I thought I had found someone who would stay. He seemed different, he seemed nice. I never had anyone who was that nice so I told myself that this would be different. But it wasn’t. It was the same. Worse of all, he made me hate him. And I never wanted to hate anyone.
I once held hands with a man who bought me a chocolate and peanut butter milkshake on our first date. And we sat in a coffee shop and talked for a couple of hours. That day, I wish time would have froze and we could have chatted some more. He grasp my hands right after my heart seemed too broken into pieces to be held again, but for him, I was alright. I was okay again. Soon after that, I found lust and love becoming one. Each time I saw him, I fell for him all over again, or was I just falling harder? I once held hands with this man who proved to me that love does exist.
I realize with each one, I am more opened. I am less fearful to fall. With each pair of hands I hold, I am braver and I want to fall. I want to fall deeper each time our hands graze and our lips meet. I want to hold hands with someone who will hold my heart too.
It’s out! :D