Maybe my hands weren’t meant to hold yours, even if my heart refused to let go. As if a flower still grows and appears in the middle— in a crack of a concrete road.

I would’ve been there for you regardless of what is going on in my life, of the hour at which you’d call. I would’ve been there by your side fighting for you, for myself, and for us. I would never have given up but you did. You let us go and now I must too because this isn’t a battle I can fight on my own.

Pinky. I remember all the promises we’ve made together—all the good things you’ve said that I thought would last forever. We were like kids writing our futures without knowing how time could change us—how the world will try to always make us reminisce the past. How the people around us will try to mold us into something we didn’t want. Ring. It was the different type of love. I don’t know if fate is real or if destiny confuses us about what we feel. But I always imagine you with me, and my heart beating with yours in symphony. It was the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard. The most wonderful feeling I couldn’t get tired of. Middle. There’s always something that goes in between. Pedestrians passing by— every time the traffic lights signal us to stop. When you were walking fast yet caught up behind someone who is walking slowly enough. When you already want to do the things you love, but you saw something that puts a doubt in your heart. When you thought you already found someone who you can’t enjoy living without. Index. I choose you over anything else, hoping that you’ll also end up picking me over everybody else. Yet I put a finger on your lips telling you to stop spreading all the sugar coated lies. I point to your chest, hoping for you to be honest. Darling I think I couldn’t take it anymore, if you continue to pretend that you still love me more. Thumb. Believe when I say that everything will be okay, even if it will take a lot of time for me to heal. In the end I will surely learn from all of this things. I will still carry the love I have somewhere inside me. Not for you, but for—each and every—broken part of me. This is how I should let go of you. One by one, I’ll remove my fingertips away from holding your hands. One by one I’ll let go of you so you can rest and breathe. Day by day, letting go will ease the pain. And until my hands stop bleeding, my soul will suddenly appreciate the wonderful life I’m living. In the end my heart will learn how to love myself more—and will finally consider it as my home.