You Touched My Hand

February 22, 2008
By Erika King, Fairfax, VA

You touched my hand in a way that felt different. You hands were warm and soft. How come, you interlock your fingers with mine? I like it. A lot. I like school, not because I like learning or the homework… I hate that, but because you are here. I can’t wait ‘til break. When I’m in your arms and we can relate. Then we go and you kiss me good-bye, I turn to leave, you say don’t go, that kiss wasn’t a good one, so I can’t go.
When lunch comes, we sit together. I look in your eyes and I could stare forever. We hold hands, and you hold me tight, you say you love me, and that doesn’t give me a fright. My friends don’t understand me, but that’s okay ‘cause you do. Sometimes I wonder if I’m dreaming, but then I know I’m not because I love you.
When we get to gym, we run and run in circles. I try to run with you … Mr. Soccer Player. I admit, I can’t run fast with you. You run so fast, but that’s okay because I love you.

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