I Held Your Springtime Hand | Teen Ink

I Held Your Springtime Hand

March 18, 2013
By Always-Abby SILVER, Flanders, New Jersey
Always-Abby SILVER, Flanders, New Jersey
7 articles 0 photos 3 comments

Favorite Quote:
“Fate is like a strange, unpopular restaurant filled with odd little waiters who bring you things you never asked for and don't always like.” - Lemony Snicket


I held your springtime hand.


"Will you love me until the stars go out?" you asked.

"Yes," I said.

Your cherry blossom fingers wove between mine as the wind carried them there.

"Will you love me until the moon stops rising?"

"Yes," I said.

The cool spark of your playful rings sent goosebumps traveling down my wrist, and I remembered the chill of the night that came upon us after the warmth of the day.

"How about until the world is underwater?"

"I think a legendary band once said that that would happen in the year three-thousand."

You smiled, your fresh breath and soft lips creating a world of their own in their universe.

The Mayette Universe.

Your gorgeous, star-shining face, home of fresh little planets of beauty.

My little dream home.

"Will you love me until the year three-thousand?"

"Yes," I lied. "Of course."


I knew it wouldn't work out.

You wouldn't love me for that long, anyway.


It happened every year, once the chill of girlfriend's past left frostbitten nicks in my head. The cold, stiff-limbed girls would melt away, live in their icebox homes, glaring at me through frosted windows as I walked by, still bundled in long shirts and scarves. Their skin was cracked on their sharp angles, lips dead and almost-purpled and I remembered, after holding every one of their hands, that I left little burns on their hearts, and they would flinch away.

The little cold spots they left in my heart vanished when the other girls came along. Their fresh brown hair, bobbing newly against their shoulders, framing their blooming little faces. They were gorgeous, lovely, all of them, every year.

And, despite knowing what would happen, knowing what I would do to them, I still loved them, and they, fresh and new and unknowing, loved me in return.



I know what will happen to you. Your heart will melt. Your eyes will drip. The planets and stars will all fall down with the weight of the sudden air. Your brown hair will crisp over and wilt. And you will hate me.

"You did this to me," you'll say. "You knew this would happen."

And I wouldn't have time to respond, because opening my mouth would burn you up, and you would be gone.


Still, even though my skin on yours was heavy and thick, you smiled, and the breeze picked up again and made my arms light with the chill. My arm was picked up by your petal-soft, pretty hands, and I held you around your shoulders. I almost expected you to droop under the weight of me. However, nighttime was coming upon us, and the air cooled me, and kept me a secret.


"Will you love me when all of the flowers stop blooming?" you asked. You asked because you thought, the flowers could never stop blooming, but even if they somehow do...

"Yes," I responded. "I'll love you until then."

Or, I would try. You will hate me, but I will try.



We walked under the budding stars for a long time. The night kept me hidden, and I wondered if you thought I was getting any lighter. I wonder if you noticed how hard my arm trembled with the cooled air. I wonder if, under your light laughter, you were suspicious of me.

And at the same time, I didn't want to know. I held your springtime hand and touched upon your cherry-blossom fingers, and I was more than content, walking through the night with you, despite glancing over to see if you had begun to wilt on nearly your last day.


Although you'll hate me, I will still love you. Although you'll be dead at my hands, I will still love you.



Even though I have begun to kill your nighttime breezes and can't sustain the freshness of your universe, the memory of springtime always makes a fragile flower bloom somewhere in my heavy, summertime heart.



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This article has 1 comment.


on Jun. 24 2013 at 9:05 pm
DifferentTeen PLATINUM, Seaford, Delaware
32 articles 2 photos 329 comments

Favorite Quote:
"There’s no such thing as true love, just spurts of insanity—falling over and over again, thinking that won’t happen to me"

At first I thought this piece was from a girls perspective and the paragraph that began with “It happened every year…” made me realize it wasn’t. The entire piece was very well written, great word choice. But it seemed kind of un-guided. There wasn’t really a big point, or sudden realization; no climax. It just feels like it was missing, something. Like one simple point was dragged on for ¾ of the article. There’s definitely something there though, great potential. I’m still wondering why the guy never stuck around with these girls, what was his reasoning for leaving them? Was it commitment issues, past experiences? Why did he lie to them, did he not want to hurt them? Maybe some explanations for his actions could improve this a little bit.   You know you’re a good writer (especially in fiction) when you leave the reader wondering. Great job, keep writing!