Sorry

We used to hold hands in public all the time, not so much now. You sometimes try holding my hand out in the open. I feel dorky with your hand in mine – sorry. I hate the thought that those that pass-by see us as two cute oldies. Cute was never the self-image I saw in my future. I thought I would be forever a tough-nut, keeping my cocksure swagger well oiled, not this, not downcast and grumbling like this. When we are not overlooked I try to grab your hand. You step aside turning your head away, and I am sorry, knowing this and understanding why.