I like holding hands. I like how it can be something so intimate yet so chaste. I like how I can hold hands with him and have it mean so much more than if I hold hands with them. I like how when we hold hands, a burst of electricity shoots through my body and I just know you feel the same way. I love how no matter when I hold your hand, it means something. Either I’m dragging you along through my streets, showing you everything and anything or maybe I’m holding your hand across the table, trying to convince you the restaurant really is as good as people say it is or maybe I’m pulling you closer and closer until our skin becomes one and the heat of our breath is the only thing we can taste.

            Oh, yes. I like holding hands.