Unwound fingers grasp at mine as if I hold something worth reaching for. Given a look I've felt estrange too because attention is not one I've been used too, unless the feeling of living in a tight space consumes my body because I tried to shrink my self worth into a mold you endlessly tried to make me fit into. I thought I knew what love was but I've realized if you question something then realization is no more than the unpredictable future I thought I had all planned out. Kind of like when I go to grab someone hand and at first everything intertwined. Hand in hand and the last thing I always let go of is what I make promises with because I have faith when people let go that at the end they'll change there mind. I grow kinder in my heart each time everyone let's go. Like a broken clock the hands repeat themselves and each hand I hold onto doesn't feel any different and I'm starting to understand I need to learn a new pattern. A new person. A new type. My hands are ready to hold someone who wants to be held and my mind is ready to understand the one whose compacity is capable of listening. Knowing how much you can offer the right person is incredible painful when no one will give you the chance, and I cant wait for that day because they'll experience everything I've been waiting to give.