I still remember the day you reached out your hand to me. As though every dream I had ever dreamt became a reality, I took it in both of mine too afraid to believe it was real. Tinged with sadness we grasped each other and built upon it. But times were hard, circumstances challenging. We embraced the joy but worked at it as though a full time job. Our grasp wavered, and soon just one hand held the other. No need for clinging but still as one.
You always held my hand. With time, I would let go- for minutes, then hours, and eventually a task would rarely allow me not to have both hands. But you were there. Silent. Strong. Holding out for me and gracefully embracing my return. Too good for me. I wandered down a meandering route of self destruction and despair, denying my actions and ignoring my truths. And still you stood. Silent. Strong. A beautiful beacon of all I am not.
sometimes we must experience the low points in life in order to learn lessons we wouldn’t have learned any other way
I took your hand. And I squeezed it. I hurt it. And it broke. Now all it has is pain, flinching away from mine, afraid of more damage. I did that. And I must live with that.
I have always regretted not taking your hand once upon a time. Not showing my feelings when they were first formed. I now regret not holding it gently when I had the opportunity. But I will go on in life and never regret not holding it out to you now. Lovingly, tenderly, with new focus. It will tire and bear loneliness but as long as I’m reaching out for you I will have hope.