Angry Hands

There you go, another happy couple. All smiles, all laughs, all good, all normal. Publicly showing any form of affection they could and would.

I took one too many side glances at him, each time, looking at his face, then at his hand - so empty - where my hand should be. He looks around cautiously each time we had any form of contact. We were less than, we were smaller, we weren’t them. Not what the public sees as. Normal.

We walked on. Mentally, I held his hand. My palm touching his. His hand, still empty.