holding my hand.
My body, my spirit ;
they’re polar opposites.
I’m stuck inside this grip,
or rather lack thereof.
You’re here, holding my hand.
You’re loving what’s left of a relic
what’s left of a statue.
loosely held onto something intangible.
There are days that I do not know
if I’m really here.
Some days THIS doesn’t seem real.
I can, for a short time,
laugh it all away.
They’re an antithesis of symbiosis,
Some days I am more afraid than others.
You can see it, too.
You’re here, holding my hand tightly.
You’re keeping me anchored.
Other than Jesus, only you can.