A Small Hand in Mine

At first, she was the little face I saw in pictures when her mother and I began dating. When the time was right, she was the tiny body standing cautiously in the corner of the living room — wondering, waiting. Before long, she was the small hand in mine as we crossed the street, the smile to prove she had brushed her teeth and the curious voice whispering until we fell asleep. It began to feel as if she were mine. Now, six months after the split with her mother, I realize she was not mine. But I loved her. — Nicole DeMouth

Image result for wishing flower
This entry was posted in Reading and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to A Small Hand in Mine

  1. Wow! I don’t know what to say. I can dissect this into so many different views.

    Liked by 1 person

Please Leave Your Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s