I remember when I held her small hand as we walked along the beach. Every shell was a treasure, and the waves made a joyful sound. We would guess how long until the sun set, making way for stars in the night sky. She would stand in my footprints and laugh at how tiny her feet were compared to mine.
Another time, I held her hand as she cried over her first breakup. She asked if that’s what a broken heart felt like. I squeezed her hand to show support, without needing to say anything.
Then, I held her hand as I walked her down the aisle. I gave her hand away, trying to hold back tears so she wouldn’t notice.
As the years went by, she started a family of her own. I was left with memories of our walks, late-night talks, and moments spent holding her hand simply out of love.
Now, she holds my weathered hand and asks if I remember our walks. This time, tears come easily as I picture her as my little girl. Her small hand is in mine again, and the waves still make their familiar song. Every shell is still a treasure, and every moment holding her hand is a blessing I will always cherish.
— Mike, 2025
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