T I G H T E R









                                        T I G H T E R grief stories
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ellis
ellismilk, tea, never milk tea
Autoplay OFF  •  a month ago
These hands were for holding you.

T I G H T E R

These are the hands that held you.

These are the hands that offered you that bouquet,

These are the hands that offered you that bouquet, that briefly felt your fingers when you accepted those roses.

These are the hands that knocked on your door every Saturday,

These are the hands that knocked on your door every Saturday, that held the ice cream cup for the both of us to share,

These are the hands that knocked on your door every Saturday, that held the ice cream cup for the both of us to share, that fought with yours over the remote control.

And once we'd settled down, we'd cuddle on the couch, and these hands became those that played with your hair,

And once we'd settled down, we'd cuddle on the couch, and these hands became those that played with your hair, that cupped your face,

And once we'd settled down, we'd cuddle on the couch, and these hands became those that played with your hair, that cupped your face, that pinched your cheeks,

And once we'd settled down, we'd cuddle on the couch, and these hands became those that played with your hair, that cupped your face, that pinched your cheeks, that found a home in the crest of your waist.

Saturday rolls around again, but my hands won't be knocking on your door or admiring your little features.

These are the hands that opened the taxi doors when you made your leave for home,

These are the hands that opened the taxi doors when you made your leave for home, that waved you goodbye until the taillights disappeared into the night,

that answered your mother's call the next morning and dropped the phone as I listened,

that answered your mother's call the next morning and dropped the phone as I listened, that embraced my legs, tucking them closer to my chest when I fell to the floor in shambles.

It's Saturday again.

I'm grasping the bouquet so tightly I could destroy the stems. I'm looking at you through the window of the casket, studying you from the cheeks I used to tease, the face I used to caress, the locks of your raven hair I used to run my fingers through.

I'm trying my best as to not break down.

I'm trying my best as to not break down. I've been doing that for the whole week.

I'm trying my best as to not break down. I've been doing that for the whole week. I'm tired.

Now I'm crying when I could have been pulling you into a tight embrace,

Now I'm crying when I could have been pulling you into a tight embrace, tighter,

Now I'm crying when I could have been pulling you into a tight embrace, tighter, tighter,

Now I'm crying when I could have been pulling you into a tight embrace, tighter, tighter, tighter so you'll never leave,

tighter so you'll never step one foot into that cab,

tighter so you'll never step one foot into that cab, tighter so you'll stay in my arms, forever safe in my hold.

I would have held you tighter than the way I lock my jaw to keep myself from wailing, tighter than the way I grasp the sweater you left by the door when I cry to the heavens to give you back.

For now, these hands will remain the ones that used to protect you,

For now, these hands will remain the ones that used to protect you, and in that failure to do so, were deprived of a warmth that only ever emanated from you.

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