Holding hands doesn’t make sense anymore.
You’ve stayed still for far too long
And your sweaty palms
Do not offer enough friction
To let you hold on anymore.
So you let go.
You wish you had taken
Swimming lessons in sixth grade.
Maybe then you would know how to stay afloat
Without letting the water enter your nostrils,
But you had been far too scared
Of water back then.
So you drown.
People lied when they told you that
You’ll never run out of oxygen.
It has been six minutes,
Three hundred and sixty seconds,
And you still cannot breathe in
Enough air to make your lungs
Swell up with life.
So you stop.