Break-up was what we both mutually concluded upon. Maybe, we were just not right for each other. Maybe, the relationship had become more of a handcuff, restricting our freedom. I thought I would get over it soon. And, to a certain extent, I even have. We have moved on.
All day I am surrounded with friends, family, and everyone else, making it easier for me not to think about you. But, sometimes, in the late hours of the night, when I am just alone, waiting for sleep to cast a spell over me, I think of you. I think of the times we spent together. The memories we shared. The looks we would steal of each other.
These are the times when I suddenly glance at my hand.
Your hand fitted so perfectly into mine, your fingers entwined with mine.
In school, you held my hand beneath the desk, covering the sides with your school bag, as if protecting our bond from the envious glances of people around us.
Somehow, you automatically held my hand while crossing the road.
You held my hand with glee, when you were happy.
You held my hand whenever I needed to be with you.
Your grip over my hand tightened when you were sad or worried.
Holding your hand gave me a sense of being loved and cared of.
But, today, emptiness is all that I hold on to when I close my hands.
I wish, or rather, I desire your companionship.
I wish if all that happened is just a nightmare, and when I wake up from this nightmare, you are again there, holding my hand, and filling up the hollowness in my life, just as your fingers filled up the gaps between mine.