Your hands were a hurricane
Someone once told me I had thunderstorm hands. I never understand what they meant until the sun started to collapse beneath my bony fingertips. You could have put fires out with those hands. But you chose to set them instead. I stood beside you, and held your ocean chest calm, as it all spilled out of you in hurricane tantrums. Like a child, I watched you steady yourself.
Like a child, I let you, burn me. You could blame it on innocence. But I knew exactly how you’d break my heart. I just stood there anyway with my chest wide open, ready for the blow. I knew exactly how you’d break my heart. I fed her to wolves so that I could keep you until you no longer needed me. You could blame it on ignorance, say I didn’t know any better; but I knew better. I knew exactly how you’d leave. Your wildfire hands caressing my words as they slid farther down inside my throat:
I never did tell you how I felt.
I know from the way you turned your back, you already knew. You didn’t want custody of a promise you couldn’t keep. And I didn’t want to keep chasing a fire, that stood everywhere, except right where I needed her.
Liked or faved by...
