“We don’t hold hands anymore.
At least not regularly.
I mean there was one time, on date weekend in New York, when we did hold hands a whole bunch.
Ah, memories.
We don’t hold hands anymore, so when I see other couples frequently anchored to one another by way of a five-finger grasp, I feel a little pang.
Of jealousy? Maybe
Concern? Perhaps.
But, then I remember that although my husband doesn’t hold my hand a lot, he holds my heart, right next to his, every single day.
He holds space for me.
He holds our relationship sacred.
He holds me up if ever I’m feeling weak.
If I’m down, he holds his arms out and lets me fall into them.
He holds my purse.
He holds my children.
He holds my face in his hands when we kiss.
He may not hold my hand, my husband, but he also doesn’t hold me back.
We don’t hold hands anymore, but I think he holds me plenty.
And, because of that, he holds my future.”
This story was submitted to Love What Matters by Nicole Merritt of Jthreenme, where the post originally appeared. You can follow her on Facebook, her website or podcast. Do you have a similar experience? We’d like to hear your important journey. Submit your own story here. Be sure to subscribe to our free email newsletter for our best stories, and YouTube for our best videos.
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