I keep writing all these stupid things about you
And they all come out awful
But I suppose what I'm trying to say is
I should have slipped my hand into yours
The day you held it out while you were singing to me
Instead of just looking at you and giggling
Because why after 20 years would you want
To feel the way my fingers feel
When they slide over your palm
The way they nestle next to yours
How my hand is so much smaller
I should have just tried it one time
Knowing that it would have changed
Everything really
Or nothing
Instead my eyes got wide and I giggled
And you look rejected
And you've never once offered
That hand to me again
And that's something I regret every day
Maybe then I'd be writing something good
And not something whiny
Like this.