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Hand In Hand

The last time I went to a park was with you. I am always surprised by your urgency to hang on to my lanky frame in public places. It is as if you wanted the world to know that you owned me, owned a piece of my soul. 

Amidst the buzz of mosquitoes, the wild laughter of young kids and the curious envious stare of their mothers, you chattered on for hours. I do not remember your prompts; I do not remember my responses. I was lost in the glow of your warmth. It was a wonderful dress you were wearing.

When the crowds dispersed and the last of the mother’s tore themselves away from us, I could feel you let go. I could feel the distances of the heart setting in. The last act had been played out. It was time for me to go home.

You were no longer hanging on.
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