now i feel like you're just the out-out-damn'd-spot story of my life. me, wringing my hands. me, rubbing out a life--a love--that no one else knew was there.
but it's right here i want to say. here on these hands that were held by him--that touched him and traced him and scooped something out of him. my hands are full of him, i want to say.
when the only thing they're full of now is my own uncertainty. and no one needs to see that to know it is there.