There are no maybes in handholding

Hang on for a minute...we're trying to find some more stories you might like.


Email This Story






Back to Article
Back to Article

There are no maybes in handholding

It was a dark room, but my hand could still find its way to yours. Maybe it wasn’t the light I needed but rather your warmth. Maybe it’s the way I could feel my cheeks kindle with the flames burning in my heart. Maybe it’s the way your touch makes me buzz. Maybe it’s the way you make me shiver with warmth. 

Maybe it was just you. 

Maybe it was our secret agreement to let go before the lights went up. Maybe it was our failure to connect with the accidental brush of knees or the chance dance of shoe tips. Maybe it was because the only thing separating us was an armrest. Maybe it’s because I wish the armrest wasn’t there. Maybe it’s because I think you were wishing the same thing. 

I think maybe it was you. 

Maybe it was the way my love ran deep in the creases on your hand as passion percolated through my antiperspirant pomade. Maybe it was the way the topography of our hands formed a beautiful system of rivers and tributaries that bountifully joined our combined nerves and excitement. Maybe it was because our hands were lonely before. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

Maybe it was because I felt alone with you—alone but never lonely. Maybe it was because I knew you were thinking it too. Maybe it was because your hands looked soft and felt softer. Maybe it was when your grip tightened—specifically at the most opportune times. Maybe it was the way your forearm rested below mine. 

Maybe it wasn’t maybe.

Maybe it was when you turned your head. Maybe it was because my head was turned already. Maybe it was because we were snug in a snowy setting. Maybe it was what you were wearing. Maybe it’s because I’ll be wearing it too. Maybe it’s because I don’t need to see your eyes to know where they’re looking, but maybe it’s because looking in them is that much better. 

Maybe it was definitely.

Maybe it’s the way you weren’t afraid to take my phone and immediately start typing. Maybe it’s the way I could see your hands when the light came back. Maybe it’s because I’ll always grab your hand now. Maybe it’s because I know you’ll always tear away and then take it back. Maybe it’s because you know I’ll smirk when I trap you with a subtle intertwining of fingers. 

It was definitely because of you.