Whispers in the dark,

Arms out ahead in efforts to not fall.

And yet, we tumble, relying on something that isn't there.

Trust, they say. Trust it'll work out.

But, how can we trust when we stand, vulnerable, with our arms open wide and our hands reaching out trying to find another soul, another hand to hold on to, and we are left with our knees bruised and our hearts torn at the emptiness?

How can we trust, when nothing is certain?

Whispers in the dark. She wants him next to her, with their words hushed but spoken, to have another soul, a hand to hold, like that day when his calloused hand caught her soft one and turned it over, memorizing the feel, the heat, the tension.

Arms out ahead in efforts to not fall. She wants her hand to meet his again.

She wants to remember what it feels like to be in love.

She doesn't want whispers in the dark. She doesn't want to fall.

She wants him here. She wants him to hold her.

Just hold her.