you can tell much by a persons hands. in itself, holds more stories than you would ever speak.
it's hard to think
that you have lived
a life without me in it.
a period in time
where we were yet
to meet and where
you experienced
the joys and despairs
of life that I wasn't
able to see.
in a selfish way,
it pains me to imagine
that I couldn't be by your side,
talking you through
every eventful
experience,
kissing you through the stress,
and praising you for
every achievement.
with the thought
I am only
reminded of this
when I hold your
hand in mine
and feel the hard
callous that is left behind.
I imagine the plethora of
stories it would give me
if I were to cut into them
and what secrets
I might bring to light
if I were to give my time away
and soothe its roughness,
caressing each and every one.
would I coax out your
old self I didn't know existed?
or would you be the very same
as when I met you?
who were you before me?
who was I not able to see?
let me see you for who you truly are.
YOU ARE READING
existential crisis: wellness and health
Poetryfor the ones who are hurt, heartbroken, overthinking, overwhelmed, and feel like they're slowly suffocating: OR for the ones who are deeply madly in love, are terribly obsessed, and or in a state of unrequitedness: "I hope you find the comfort you a...
