He holds her hand.

 

He holds her hand.

He holds her hand, because that is all that is his, that is left to hold.

They have gone too far now, to ever come back.

Things that they have done. Things that they have said. Things that they have not said.

It all stands between them like an immense gulf, holding them apart, even as they stand with only inches between them.  It hangs in the air physically separating them, a dark cloud of distrust, a double glazed wall of disbelief, a door that is made of old broken promises, sealed shut with empty lies.

Both know that it’s over, but neither wants to be the first to let go.

It’s all just too hard, too difficult, too unfair.

Life isn’t fair.

They both know this. It never was, and never will be. So why should this be?

They have shouted and screamed, until it was all out in the open, and now, in honour of the close friendship they both once had ((before everything fell apart)) they are building a fragile trust on the little truths that they can take, slowly brick by brick.

But it will never be the same again. And both realize this, even though they carry on unwilling to acknowledge it and face the blatant truth.

They know they can’t go on like this forever; holding on just for the sake of holding on. Clinging on desperately, to something that neither is sure is even there anymore.

But once upon a time they loved each other, and now they don’t want to let go.

He holds her hand.

He holds her hand, because even though he has to, he doesn’t want to let go.

 

 

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