Holding Hands

 We held hands. I was wondering what it would be like to have a home of your own where you could come and go, where people would be welcome, where you would never be frightened again. –Jeanette Winterson

It was night-time and it’s drizzling. I was walking in a hastened gait, but on the inside, I was feeling rather defeated and engulfed with a familiar sense of longing. 

I hate getting wet and being in cold only meant misery. 

I heard a brisk footsteps behind me and before I knew, out of nowhere, a warm hand weaved through my every finger, chanelling the warmth of his skin. And I how smiled at that. 

His very touch felt all familiar and I didn’t have to turn to know who he was. A relented and relieved smile crept up my face. I stopped and didn’t turn immediately. 

I enclosed his hand in mine, and turned. He always appeared out of nowhere. And how his presence is always felt like a gift. 

Still smiling, I was trying to find his gaze, and turned completely to my side to really take him in. 

He was being all playful, tightening his hold, but was looking away as if feeling sheepish for his act. How my heart was brimming with love, and felt like it’s going to burst at any moment.