Don’t tie your hair in a messy bun. Don’t flick your ash like you don’t care. Don’t hide ‘cause I see you flinch from those spoken words. They sting worse than punches and the bruises never fade. And I see how you dismiss the hurt by playing it cool. But darling, there ain’t no one who feels nothing. And you can disguise your feelings with all that black you wear. Or paint on your mascara thick like you don’t give a ****. But baby, people are gonna talk no matter what; how much you ate, how thin you are, that you think too much, that you don’t care enough, that your heels are too high, or you’re pretending to be someone else or just how you do, or how you don’t. And I know these things play off on your mind and keep you up at night. But bottling it up isn’t going to ease the swell in your troubled heart. It’ll just feed the sorrow and someday that old bubble is gonna have to burst. So here, take my hands because they’re yours to hold. And don’t look surprised because they’ve always been. Maybe you never noticed them, or maybe it wasn’t the right time. Or maybe you were holding out for another pair of hands. Now I know these hands are small. They look fragile but they’re all I’ve got to give. Oh yes, there is my heart but you claimed that long before I could auction it off to the highest bidder. These fragile hands will hold, caress, support, and cure you. If you’re weary they’ll rock you to sleep. They’d do more than just move mountains and part oceans for you. So take these hands and hold on tight. But don’t doubt these hands because they’re yours to hold.