as cliché as it sounds, his hand fits perfectly in mine. yes, a lot of people say that. but i don't mean it the way they do.
for me, it's not the size; it's the feeling. that feeling i get when his hand slips in mine, when our fingers intertwine, when he gives me that reassuring squeeze that he's right there, and will never leave, that everything will be okay.
those days; i was probably the happiest person on earth. when his lips brushed mine, when he finished the sentence 'i love you' with my name, when he was mine, and i was his. now, i'm nothing. i'm bent. not broken, just bent. but most of all, i'm torn.
.
- w.i.d.o.x.
YOU ARE READING
brain - w.i.d.o.x.
Poetrymy thoughts, feelings, emotions. if you don't understand the title, it's because the stuff i put on here is my p.o.v., how i feel, so it's all from my brain. enjoy. x
