i'm older now than you were when we met.
and how old you seemed then.
but we knew so little, the two of us.
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.
Posted by meg fee at 2:38 PM