fingertips

Watching the way we pull back makes me ache so much. It's like I'm reaching for you all the time, more than I ever have. You're down in the ends of my fingertips, instead of up in the rest of me. It's as close as we'll get.

No, I think as close as we'll get is a long way behind us now. It's not coming, there won't be anything more than this. And I, I should have left when I said I would. I should have run, because my heart is breaking again. And it wasn't me. I should have disappeared while I was still smoke, not this actual thing you don't want anymore.

I'm all up in fingertips. I've been making things with my hands this week. Writing again, drawing. Playing the piano, trying to play the guitar - realizing I should just give in and play bass. I'll get one of those for Christmas, learn how to play.  The bass player's the one they all make fun of, yeah? Maybe it's a role I've been groomed for. The one I've been practicing all my life.

I'm doing it, living on the edges of myself again. Afraid of what's in here. I haven't unloaded for so long, I think the deluge would drown me, so I'm withholding.

Fingertips on the controller, time again, Halo with other boys. Everything my fingers touch reminds me of you. Makes me miss you more. I use them, and avoid them.

If I touch him, I won't do it with my hands.