He Held My Hands

He held my hand
and time stood still because like all beautiful things
it took us our brains to process it longer
than something statically average and predictable.

He held my gaze and I blinked away the tears of time
the ones that reminded me that the past 
eats
at your heart, at will, because
it is mad and hungry and hungry and mad
and active.

He held my heart, 
because I gave it to him.
And that was the realest gift I could give and probably
the worst gift I could give because
I’ve always been bad at presents, 
but this time my heart was his. 

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