touch.

better

and there is nothing more beautiful to me

than holding hands with the one you love

not kissing; not fooling around; not anything

more better than your fingers intertwined

in his, the warmth of his palm against yours

and you hoping your hand isn’t too sweaty.

everyone looks at you, and then him, and then

your hands together, swinging freely

and there’s nothing that i can think of

that’s so much more than his unabashedness

of holding my hand, not caring if anyone

saw.

(his touch sent magic flowing in my veins.)

a/n: just because i don't mind doesn't mean i don't miss