Your hands were intertwined in mine.
Those days, your hair was messy, and as hard as I tried to comb through it, you managed to mess it up every time.
Those days, your skin was warm like the summer air, and with each night you wrapped me in your arms, I didn't know I was struggling to break free.
Those days are long since gone.

Your hands were letting go.
Those days, our lives were messier than your hair ever was, and we tried to clean up our acts to no avail.
Those days, your skin grew cold and took the texture of a snakes. With each night you wrapped her in your arms, even you knew it should have been me.
Those days are long since gone.

Your hands are lost in your messy hair now, your hands hold none but your own.
They don't reach for me anymore, there's no sign of the hands mine used to know.