Fingers

The hand intertwines its fingers
around my mind,
as I waste all my time,
wondering about things that don’t exist,
and all of the people I have never, ever kissed.
Who may or might not come into my life.
Unsure if I’ll ever again be a wife,
or if I’ll just marry the wind,
until my toes sink in again,
to something, maybe bigger than
myself,
some kind of good, we all seek,
in the togetherness we lose everything
weak, and in the kind we grow strong,
and in the connection we heal,
yet I run from the sun sometimes,
because it can only remind me of
the opposites I experienced,
which were everything I never want to
see, not ever again.
I suppose that’s just easier.
But I can only do things easy for so long,
until I do them the hard way, head into
the wall, running the wrong way down
the school hall, just to watch myself fall,
to look up at the rain and be reminded of
the pain which was always there, like a
bow you always wore in your hair.
That’s what’s contained in that one blank
stare you mentioned that time, over wine,
with the reflections in my eyes,
of all of the things I never did despise.