Knuckles

There are two each holds one hand. The one on the left has known me the longest but doesn’t know me that much. The one on the right knows a lot about me but does not know what to do with it. The one on the left cracks my knuckles always tries to please me always fails always tries too hard in the wrong direction. The one on the right cracks my knuckles sees how it hurts me stops digs his fingers into my palm and holds it tightly doesn’t let me go. The reality of it is that although I may never have the courage to let them both touch me at once they have already touched me at once in my heart. I’ve liked the one on the left like a slow car ride learning slowly accepting slowly The flame constantly burning and dimming but mostly dimming. The one on the right knows how to make nerves jolt with one smile or one joke and sometimes all he needs is to show up and everything is right. He is the flame that never stops reaching but sometimes it is not towards me. Sometimes I have to share. The one on the left still has some growing up to do even though he thinks he knows what he’s doing even though he says he’ll listen and consider you can tell he won’t. The one on the right is already too smart to listen but he always listens and he understands and twists your words to show you his side until you are the one who needs to listen. I still have some growing up to do Here I am, waiting for two hands to hold mine. Maybe I need to just grab one instead of waiting instead of watching. However the left and the right both hold two significant sides of me and I’m still unsure which side I can let go of if I could even hang on to them.