to the poet that kissed my hand on monday,

that’s the first time anyone has ever done that to me, and my soul has been touched ever since. you shared only a part of your story with me, and my heart swelled and wept for you. to see you smile and be so joyous and kind, it made me just want to hug you and tell you that it gets better. it will get better. thank you for holding my hand so sincerely, and surprising me with a kiss. it was so gentlemanly, and you even asked before you did it. I didn’t give you much, but it meant much to you that you asked my name, and willingly shared yours with me. I’m normally grossed out by other people’s touch, or their germs being on my skin – but it wasn’t like that with you. it wasn’t like that at all. I didn’t feel the urge to wash my hands, or shy away. your touch was warm, and I could tell that there was nothing but love in your heart.

we may have only encountered one another once in our lifetime, but I’m so thankful that we did. I’m thankful that I met you, even if it was for a brief moment in time. your words are beautiful, and from a fellow poet to another, I hope you make it and I hope you realise that your words bless the heart of many. thank you for letting me feel warmth from a man, the way I’ve never felt it before, and in the most unexpected way. I hope my husband’s touch is as warm, and as caring as yours. thank you for filling my day, and my life with hope, even if it was for a few minutes. some people leave a mark on your soul, and you are one of them. thank you for opening your heart and your past to me and, thank you for being you. I hope all is well,

thank you for kissing my hand.

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2 Replies to “to the poet that kissed my hand on monday,”

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