What's in a name

His no longer means a person in bohemian collared shirts, a living warm body with a smile that tugs at mine heart nor hands that stretch out towards me when he wants me to come, not big hands that don't know how to hold mine so I have to teach him
Why do you hold hands that way? it's so awkward. Here, it should be like this. see. don't you know how to hold a girl's hand?
No; I haven't held many girls' hands.

shrug.
His means an achy feeling I get now and then, the feeling of missing someone. Not necessarily him; it's just a different pull at the heart. It's a feeling I get on the bus, on my travel en route somewhere. It's a feeling I keep for awhile because it reminds me of a happy time, even if it hurts somewhat. It's like fiercely hugging a soft pillow that has one thorn placed near the heart.
There'll be other guys.



On a side note, I've given up on belief. To explicate, I've stopped believing in words. So many I've had promised me, from different mouths.
"We're going to sail on my boat, check out drains and have a chocolate day. We have our hols planned out. Lovely."
"Oh yeah, that one's pretty good. We'll do it sometime."
-and the one that hurts the most.
"There will be a next time."

words words words. they're all we have to go on.