"Your hands are meant to hold."
That's always what you told me,
But you never said by who.
I've tried so many hands,
Linking them with my own,
Like trying to find,
That one **** puzzle piece,
That always gets lost in the pile.
I thought I found that missing piece,
That hand to fit perfectly in my own.
But apparently I wasn't his missing puzzle piece,
Because he left me there,
Standing,
Crying in the dark.
I stopped looking for that piece.
But then you come along,
With that face no one knows,
Yet everyone knows your name.
A phantom to the eye,
Yet not to the ear.
With your electric personality.
You take my hands in yours,
Intertwine our fingers,
Making me feel worlds away from the hurt I was just in.
You knew from that day,
When you talked about my hands,
You knew that the only place they would truly fit,
Was your own.