Fuck it I’m done pretending.
I want to hold his hands. No no, I want to HOLD his hands. No see you-you’re still not understanding. I want to hold him like he’s made of the most refined metals in the galaxy, I want to rub my thumb over his knuckles like they are smooth rocks that have been etched away at by the waves of life. I need to cradle his hand in mine, despite the size and difference in fingers. I need to cradle his hand with both of mine as if it’s a fallen star I’m gazing upon. I need to press my lips to his skin like you would to a warm mug for heat, I need to look at him and only at him. Not look past him like others-no-I need him to know sitting across from me, hand in my own that there’s an ache he helps me soothe in my body by simply being. By granting me the gift of holding him. I need him to look at me and see me-not through me. And see his hand, cradled in mine like the most precious artifact known to humankind and soften. I need the tension to fall away from his shoulders, his eyes to soften, his hand to relax. Before grasping mine with his other hand, no words needed nothing to be said just the gesture to connect us. A moment of peace and understanding in the frenzy of the uninformed futures. Just quiet and gentle understanding, you aren’t in it alone and you never will be.
