My friend once told me
she liked this guy because of his hands
And I found it absurd that anyone
would develop feelings over one feature,
and not care about the rest
It wasn’t until you used your hands
to cup the back of my neck the first time we kissed
and I could feel your firm grasp pull me closer,
and my insides exploded
and my head buzzed with bliss.
And the first night you slept over,
you fell asleep with your hand
laid over my stomach
and your fingers felt like a fire
that I didn’t mind burning my skin.
The first time we got drunk,
was the first time you played with my hair,
and my god I was hooked,
I’d drink forever if it meant you’d never stop.
And in public you’d hold my hand,
and rub your thumb in little circles
that left me wanting you more,
no matter what you would never let me go,
I was glued to you,
and I honestly didn’t mind
When we talked about breaking up,
you saw my lips quiver with fear,
and you brushed over my lips with your fingers
before pulling me into your lap
and you kissed me like never before.
With your hands on my hips
pulling me so close to you,
leaving no space in between us.
It was then I realized I never wanted you to go
Its now that,
I finally understand why hands
were the only feature that mattered
She will cry. She will cry over you like there is no tomorrow, until her throat is raw and her hair a mess. Her screams will echo through the walls and there will be nothing beautiful about it.
She will tear out the pages of her diary that she dedicated to you and swear your name will never again appear on the crisp pages that are so important to her. But two days later the words won’t come and she’ll find herself scrawling your name over and over until the ink blurs and merges with her tears.
She will curse you and curse herself and curse the skies for everything and nothing. There will be days when the sun shines but all she will see is rain and clouds, and days when she won’t see anything at all.
And fuck. She will love you even though her heart is breaking because she gave you a part of herself that you refuse to return.
But know this, she will also learn to forget you, so when she walks by in two months time, laughing and smiling without a care in the world, you will wonder how she slipped through your fingers, and she won’t care.
Not one single bit.Excerpt from a book I’ll never write #29 (via fvckem)