tell me i don't have to feel anymore and then i'll let go of your arm. i like the sound of your fingers scraping across the bricks of the buildings that we walk by. i wish it was just us at a table and you will wear a mask and i will not turn until you tell me to.
the day that i walked out of the house alone with all i needed in a white paper bag, i knew i was getting too heavy. i knew that i was pulling too hard and thinking too much about all of the colors i saw on the scarf that used to hang over the door knob. it was all wrong.
now we stand in a bookstore and i read about people with broken hearts that jump from off of the roof of their grandmother's house and they can't ever be fixed. i like to read their stories.
this is not my story, i tell you, this is not mine at all.
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