he held my hand tonight
we were ice skating
and he was about to fall
he held my hand
but it wasn't the same

it wasn't at all like the rush
i get
when holding hands with you
his fingers weren't warm
nor did they make me feel warm
they didn't interlock mine
like yours do
he didn't use them
to fix his hair
far too often
like i know you would have
they weren't callused
from pressing on frets
making beautiful music
with his guitar
and he was lacking a scar near the bone of his right wrist
his hands were neither sturdy nor familiar
and his voice did not soothe

he's not you

and that's
not okay
to me