Hold my hand.

In the throng of crowded streets, they stroll, Hand in hand, a sight that takes its toll. Your fingers intertwined with hers so tight, While I'm left here, longing, out of sight.

I hate the way your touch eludes my grasp, As if my hand in yours could never clasp. You say it's not the time, the place, the mood, But in their gaze, our love feels misconstrued.

Their glances, whispers, assumptions made, As if our bond could simply fade. They see you two and dub you as a pair, While we, unnoticed, silently despair.

Aren't we the ones meant to walk this path, Sharing love that's meant to last? Yet in the shadows, we're forced to hide, As your hand finds hers, by your side.

I hate it, yes, this public display, For it chips away at what we portray. But deeper still, it fuels the fire, Reminding me of our unfulfilled desire.

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