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MahayagPoems
There once was a boy whose feet stood in one island while his hands held another. He promised himself he would never let either drift away. He held on. The sea pulled. The wind tested him. But the boy stretched. Every year, he grew longer. Not taller. Just… longer. He held on. On the island his hands held, there lived a girl who liked to stand at the edge of the shore. She thought he looked tall. She did not know he was being pulled. He held on. When candles were blown out, he arrived in the quiet after. He held on. When wedding songs were sung, the rice never touched his shoulders. He held on. When soil fell onto coffins, his hands were already full. He held on. They said, “We understand.” But understanding is not the same as presence. He held on. The years were patient. The sea was not. His arms grew thinner. His shoulders learned the language of ache. His fingers curved like old branches. The girl on the shore no longer thought he looked tall. She thought he looked tired. And still he held both islands as the tide kept rising. He still held on. And when the sea finally reached his chest, he did not loosen his hands.
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Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 4:32 PM UTC
The Boy Who Would Not Let Go
There once was a boy whose feet stood in one island while his hands held another. He promised himself he would never let either drift away. He held on. The sea pulled. The wind tested him. But the boy stretched. Every year, he grew longer. Not taller. Just… longer. He held on. On the island his hands held, there lived a girl who liked to stand at the edge of the shore. She thought he looked tall. She did not know he was being pulled. He held on. When candles were blown out, he arrived in the quiet after. He held on. When wedding songs were sung, the rice never touched his shoulders. He held on. When soil fell onto coffins, his hands were already full. He held on. They said, “We understand.” But understanding is not the same as presence. He held on. The years were patient. The sea was not. His arms grew thinner. His shoulders learned the language of ache. His fingers curved like old branches. The girl on the shore no longer thought he looked tall. She thought he looked tired. And still he held both islands as the tide kept rising. He still held on. And when the sea finally reached his chest, he did not loosen his hands.
Mahayag
Written by
Mahayag
39/M/England
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 4:32 PM UTC
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