Longing

Do you remember how I waved when I saw you coming out of the gate in the airport? Have you any idea of how insecure I felt then? Well, let me tell you about it. We hugged, and I'm sure you remember, because a policeman scolded us for leaving your luggage unattended. However, by then I felt we were old friends, and I was very scared about that. What if your heart had been emptied from the sparks that had always moved it toward me, and therefore I had to remove the sparks that moved me to you and smile at you as friends do? What if distance and time had corroded the bond between us?

We talked. We were still friends. We laughed. We took a cab. I sat beside you, and the moment that followed our sitting there became —believe me— one of the most decisive and beautiful memories in my life. I took a chance, a risk, I played my wildcard... and I sent my hand to fetch yours. I don't know what I was thiking then, maybe I was too frightened by the possibility of a negative outcome. But when your hand held mine so firmly, and when they touched each other so... so full of yearning, as if there could never be a better place for them to be than right there on our laps, dancing and kissing in a way we knew we could not... then I knew nothing had changed, and happiness could still reside in my heart, fueled by yours.

My hand is longing for yours again. When will it be back?