Written by Vuslat Topal
As a baby,
I had small hands;
Like every other baby does.
As I grew older,
My hands grew larger, bigger, stronger.
I was able to carry more weight with them;
Hold heavy things like bowling balls and depression.
My hands also held other hands;
Sometimes the wrong ones,
But eventually my grip loosened,
And let go of the hands that were not meant to be caressed by mine.
My brother also had small hands when he was a baby;
Like every other baby does.
As he grew older,
His hands grew larger, bigger, stronger.
He was able to carry more weight with them;
Hold heavy things like electric guitars and anxiety attacks.
I remember when he was ten,
His hands held paint brushes and kite strings.
Soon after, he let go of both these things,
And waved goodbye to his childhood self.
When we were younger,
I would hold his small hands in mine,
And now he holds my small hands in his.
Our hands were meant to be held by each other.
Fingers intertwined.
And I know that my hands will never let go of his,
As his hands will never let go of mine.
Illustrated by Sailorfabs