I was told that that average heart is about the size of the owner's fist
So I would grab handfuls of dirt And grass And sand
But it would all slip through my fingers, and I was worried that people were the same
The more I tried to hold on, The tighter my grip, The more I reached out to them The more they slipped away
I thought that changed when I met you
I reached out to you, and you didn't slip away
I could grab your hand, feel your fingers with mine, and you would hold it right back
When I held your hand, I could almost feel my heart swell as if it doubled its size
But there were other things I held on to, Not plausible or visible things
Things like the sound of your laugh and the sound of your voice, Your real smile that came out rarely, which just made it even more beautiful when it appeared
But you slipped out of my grasp She took your hand from mine, and she ran with it And you went with her
What did I do to make you slip away?
How did I let you slip away?
Part 1 of 'poems-I-wrote-last-year-but-forgot-to-post-and-just-found'