he took my hand

He took my hand, and patiently said, “When you are ready I will be there, I am here and I will not leave”. And he waited.

And I ran, I had sleepless nights, where his face flashed in my dreams, where I had fears for waiting too long, not being able to find his hand. I had mornings where I wished he was next to me, to wake up to his hands around my waist. I had days where I wanted him to kiss me so badly, that my heart felt as if it could burst inside my chest. And yet I did nothing, and he waited.

Weekends came and went, and with each passing day, I looked to him with more and more love. He told me all he wanted, more than anything, was just for me to walk with him a while, let him hold my hand. He asked me to pause for just a moment, take the chance, allow myself to open my heart. I cried and he waited.

He opened his heart to me, felt the deepest part of my broken heart, read my emotions and held me. He asked for my father’s approval with a dime, not saying a word, and it was granted. He took my hand, held me close, and asked of nothing in return. I kissed him, with all of my soul, and he waited.

He danced with me, and sang me songs. He wrote me letters; pulling all the words he could find to show me, he was real. He looked deep into my eyes and held my face, kissed the tears from my cheeks and he waited.

And I left, and while I was gone, I wanted him more than ever. I needed his touch, I needed his hand, I needed him, and he was there. Every moment, every step, every beat he was there… I loved him and went to his arms