i always liked how your hands looked. calloused and rough from years of hard work. cat scratches and resin burns. they were bigger than mine, much warmer, see, my hands are so cold that whenever anyone touches them they ask if something's wrong. i wanted yours to warm them.
i know how frustrating it must have been for you, to love someone that swore they will get better but never had the evidence to back it up. but you need to trust me. i can make it through this. i just need our hands to touch.
times like this make me wonder, what could have possibly been the moment that you realized you didn't feel for me the same way anymore. the moment you stopped looking for me in the crowd of people, like the moment you stop looking for something means it stops being lost. i didn't want to be a coat for you, something you could take on and off depending on the day, depending on who you wanted to know about this. about us. i wanted to be more than just a piece of cloth clinging onto a figure that i was never tailored to. i want to know the exact moment you decided i didn't fit.
the death of our hands that night, was the birth of discovery that someone else's hands could hold me like yours did.
and i thought of all the hands i could hold.

but none of them looked like yours.

i've had some time to think, and i've slowly come to terms with the fact that this will all amount to nothing. i'm still so fucking angry at you and i don't think that will ever go away. but i've been taught forgiveness since i was a child and i'd be wrong if i said i haven't tried so hard to forgive. but no matter how much blood i give, it will all amount to nothing.
i guess it's this difficult because of how much you still mean to me. i'm ashamed of how much i look forward to seeing you every day. it's hard to forget how you made me feel because i've never been treated like that by anyone until you came, and i've never felt this way about anyone. i hated my name until i heard you say it for the first time. i hated touch until you hugged me for the first time. now you hug me every day, like it's as easy as breathing. maybe it is for you.
i still drive by your house every day. it's on my way to work. and every time, i look for your truck parked in the driveway. pristine, shiny red. perfect, like how i used to think of you. but we all have our imperfections.
there was this song i would listen to on repeat when i first met you. a song about driving across the country in a pickup truck, about falling in love with someone you just met. it was my favorite song for a long time. but now i can't bring myself to listen to it. and it's funny, because after i listened to the whole album, i realized how terrible that song was in the right context. the dangers of trusting someone so deeply, about falling in love so quickly. i was too blinded by my own obsession to realize your faults. i blinded myself to the negative parts of you. and i still do, to some degree. i still wear those rose-tinted glasses, even after exposing myself to those parts. parts that i still wont think of. parts that i'll still ignore.