His hand is reaching out,
Wanting mine,
To grasp,
To hold,
To proclaim to the world,
That I am his.
I like him,
But the sight of his hand,
Reaching out for mine,
Fills me with apprehension,
And I realize that it is too soon.
Nevertheless,
I take his hand in mine,
Even though I am not ready,
Because I do like him,
And I am afraid,
That if I ignore his hand,
He will give up,
And I will drive him away forever.
He is smiling from ear to ear,
So I copy him,
Even though,
My chest is feeling quite unpleasant.
About the Creator
Rebecca Patton
Ever since discovering Roald Dahl, I wanted to be an author who would delight and move her readers through her stories. I also wrote my debut novel, "Of Demons and Deception" on Amazon.
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Off the Book
It ended like every other stupid idea. Badly, and alone. I’m researching digital confession ethics, he said. A tech ethicist. He gestured at floating data I couldn’t see then pulled out a physical notebook. Actual paper, fountain pen. He held it up like he was showing me scripture.
By Nicky Frankly5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (4)
And this, they say, is love ♥
This was very relatable. Great entry for the challenge 😀
I've experienced this before. That fear that he might give up if I ignore. So real. Loved your poem!
EXCELLENT!