Hand in hand…

The sky was dark. It was cold.

The night was young. And I was bold.

So I held her hand. Her tender, warm hand.

I felt myself quiver. Was it fear, or was it the cold that made me shiver?

But then I felt the grip. A firm, gentle grip. Of her hand, in my hand.

And everything felt fine, again.

And I smiled. She did too, I guess.

We just walked. And none of us bothered to talk.

Live in the moment they say. And we lived, we felt, we stayed, we swayed, in that moment.

We found a bench, wooden, rickety. And just sat there, gazing into eternity.

Seconds, minutes, hours went by. And the end drew nigh.

The night began to lighten. The day began to brighten.

I suddenly felt lonely, and sad. And a moment earlier I had been so peaceful and glad.

Time to go, she whispered, like a wisp, she vanished.

And suddenly I felt empty, cold. Its been years, my mind told, my heart.

She is no more. That she was never more, than a ghost tonight. Who vanished before the first light.

That she was an illusion. Her presence, a mere delusion, of an ailing heart, and a lost soul. My soul.

I looked at my hand, it still felt warm. As if she was leaning against my arm, her hand gripping mine.

And everything felt fine, again.