Holding Hands

I remember the day I held her hand—the softness, the warmth, the way it made me feel complete. In that moment, everything else faded away. It wasn’t just our fingers intertwined; it was our hearts, our hopes, our dreams. That touch held all the unspoken words, the promises we believed would last forever. But now, she’s getting married, and not to me. There’s a different hand she’ll hold now, one that will take her through all the moments we once imagined together. It’s strange how something as simple as holding hands can carry so much weight, so much memory. Every time I think back to those times, I can still feel the echo of that touch—the way it felt like home, the way it made me believe that we had something real, something lasting. But now, that chapter has ended, and the pain of letting go is heavier than I ever expected. I never thought that the last time I held her hand would be the final time. I didn’t know it would carry the weight of goodbye. It’s a memory I hold onto with both joy and sorrow. Joy for the moments we shared, and sorrow for the future we’ll never have. Letting go of her hand was letting go of more than just a person—it was letting go of what might have been. And even though she’s moving on, that memory will stay with me, a bittersweet reminder of love, loss, and everything in between.