How it Started

How it Started

It started as soon as I… extended my hand to his fond, soft palm, one lazy Thursday morning.

I couldn’t remember his name but he looked familiar…”Have I seen him before?”

Sometimes, I hate thinking about the fact that he showed up without a warning.

I wasn’t prepared, and the only thing that I recalled was the white cotton shirt he wore.

He left taking my contact number with him, whilst me asking, “Would he even bother?”

In a few days, he gave me a ring, asking my day…then it quickly became his habit.

Deep inside me, I was hesitant, scared that he’d add up to the scars in the past.

It wasn’t long ago that my heart was broken; I thought that French man was no other.

Thick, copper walls were built as stronger as the warm hazy days passed by.

I made sure my soul was sealed, and made it difficult for him to make a move.

There were days when I had to stand him up, as my mind refused to comply.

Now that I’m his, the only thing I can do to keep him is to pray for his unfailing love.