she held his hand as they walked even though she didn’t want to hold his hand. She wasn’t one for hand holding. it felt awkward and made it hard to walk. she just wanted to walk. She felt compelled to grab his hand. She knew that he wanted her to grab his hand. His hand felt clammy in hers . She wanted to release it and wipe her hand on her pants. She didn’t though even though she wanted to. She knew she had to tell him. She kept putting it off. She really couldn’t do this any more. She had to stop this. Every time she thought she had the nerve, she couldn’t do it. Break up with him. Tell him that she didn’t love him. She had to do it before she went insane. She wanted to write him a letter, take the easy way out. She looked up at him. He had no idea. She was going to devastate him. She resented the fact that she had to hold his hand. She had to tell she him. Her mouth went dry.
He felt her slip her hand in his. he held it tightly, his heart beating faster in his chest. He wanted to hold her, put his arm around her but the hand had to be enough. She actually took his hand. She must love him. He had been beginning to wonder to doubt. She was distant recently. He kept telling himself she was preoccupied with other worries. It had nothing to do with him. Of course she loved him. it wasn’t the same though. he knew that. It kept him up at night tossing and turning. Feelings of dread and emptiness. She could hardly look at him. Her eyes constantly darting away, shifting. He was beginning to think that he disgusted her. He looked over at her as they walked. Her eyes straight ahead. A frown on her lip, her body stiff.
The woman at the bench saw them approach. The couple. She knitted the red yarn , looking up periodically. She spent a lot of time at that bench watching people. Red yarn making the shape of a sweater. For a small child. They didn’t see her, lost in their own thought. She noticed the distance between them. Not a happy pair she thought to herself. She had seen all kinds. Those are not for each other she thought to herself. She looked down as she pulled out more yarn. She didn’t want to be caught staring..
He saw the woman there suddenly knitting. Something struck him. The red of the sweater, the woman’s face something familiar about her. Tears sprung at his eyes. his face contorted. He pulled his hand out of hers. She stopped, startled, what? she wanted to say. She saw his tears. I am sorry she started to say. He shook his head. He went to wave. He turned , walking away quickly, unable to bear her words.