Yesterday, me and my fiance were supposed to go to a mall in Makati to buy some stuff for our home, but he had some petty arguments with someone dear to him, which set off his mood. So we postponed our plan and decided to do it later. On our way home riding a taxi, I noticed that he doesn't want to talked about what happened, and so I stayed quiet holding his hand.
And he squeezed my hand. Too tight. For too long.
Then I realized, maybe we don't really need to talk about it. Maybe he just wanted to feel me that I am there for him. Maybe he just wanted some peace of mind and he found it in me.
He is pissed, I can sense that! But the tightness of the hand proclaimed how he needed me. It gave me a reassurance of how strong we became together. Of how we became dependent when it comes to emotional struggle. Of how one should be sturdy when the other one is weak.
Until now, I never let go of that hand. And even if we are not together, I still think that he holds mine like how he did yesterday. It brings back memories of how problems dig you down, and how love lifts you up. It signifies two persons holding each other no matter what. It relives an important promise of being together for the rest of the time.
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