Can We Go Back?

I remember the first day you held my hand.
Your fingertips paused at my wrist, waiting, hesitant,
Then caressing their path across my palm.
You slipped your fingers through mine and held on,
And I could talk of magnetism, electric,
Forces that for us have no name or meaning,
The very air settling, wrapping around in embrace,
But it would mean nothing.
Would not capture how it felt to belong,
To not doubt, to know inner peace for once.
I cannot find the words. I don’t think there are enough of them,
And my ...