The beauty of holding hands

It must be something I vaguely remember as I am unable to name the reasons why I need to hide my reddened ears every time we cross paths; or it must be something I am superbly familiar about when you call my name in a way that I am so fond of.

I have never asked for so much, nor have I demanded for anything beyond my desire. Yet, how come does it feel so wrong not to, simply, walk you home, hand in hand?

Perhaps, it is all about what they said: the beauty of holding hands …

... that we fall the moment our fingers intertwine.

It is the beauty of holding hands ... that no matter how strange it may seem, the fingers that entwine will always seem like a red string: tying one to another while pulling each other closer.

Oh, how dare I ask for more?

Thus, while walking you home, Darling, let me bring your heart home, promise to give it twice back tomorrow, and surely will continue to do so.