Sexless in the City

Hold my Hand in the Daylight

07.07.16

sexless in the city / the refined woman

You slid your fingers into mine, and suddenly it was just you and me…

Cheeks red from a day at the beach; it was our last night.
The whisper of fall was in the air, but we played like an endless summer was ahead of us.

Through the crowded patio you walked behind me.
It was loud with bar banter, and music, and waves crashing in the background.
You put your hands on my shoulders and pulled me near to tell me something.
It felt safe to be close to you.
Then you stepped in front to lead the way.

As we walked your hand slid down my arm until our fingers intertwined.
You gave my hand a squeeze, and everything stopped.
I looked up and saw the smile on your face.
I could have walked a thousand miles with you — as long as our hands stayed together.

But like the night, it was fleeting.
The music came back to the foreground and the waves crashed against the shore.
We said our good byes.

And I waited.

I hoped for you in the daylight.
Because I want you in the daylight.

I remember that night, and I’m taken back to the butterflies in my stomach. I felt like I was floating.

The night is carefree and full of unknowns.
Things unfold in the dark that may never happen during the day.

Stepping into the light takes courage.
There is clarity; no hiding or confusion.
No mistaken intention.
It’s clear: you’re making a step toward me, and I toward you.

To live in the shadows is safer.
There’s less at stake. Less disappointment. Perhaps less rejection.
But the light demands risk, hope, and vulnerability.

So I wait for the man who will move towards me in the light.
Walls down and hearts open.
And we’ll hold hands in the daylight.

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