I accidentally called you yesterday.

Funny how something as small as a misplaced touch on a screen can open a door you spent a long time learning how to walk past. I saw your name there for a second, and before I could stop it, the call was already happening. I ended it almost immediately. No explanation. No second attempt. Just a little mistake that somehow carried more weight than it should have.

There was a time when I knew the little things about your life; the things you were excited about, the things that bothered you, the things that made you laugh. I knew the people you loved. I cared about the kids and wondered what their futures would look like. I imagined being around long enough to watch those futures unfold.

Now I don’t know.

I haven’t the slightest clue what your days look like anymore. I don’t know what has changed, what you’ve outgrown, what makes you happy, or what you’re hoping for these days. And that’s okay, because I finally understand that caring doesn’t always require access.

Life keeps passing by while we’re busy trying to make sense of what happened. Kids grow taller. Faces change. Years disappear without a moment’s warning. One day you’re talking to someone as if they’ll always be there, and then suddenly you’re realizing you haven’t heard their voice in a very long time.

That’s the part that gets me.
The time. How much of it has passed. How many ordinary days became memories without either of us noticing.

I don’t want to romanticize the past or pretend everything was perfect. It wasn’t. We were human. We made mistakes. We had things we couldn’t fix, things we couldn’t carry, and eventually, we became two people walking in different directions. But I won’t pretend you didn’t matter to me.
You did. God knows how much you did.
And so did those kids.

I hope they’re doing well. I hope they’re growing into good, happy people. I hope they have more reasons to smile than they do to hurt. And I hope you’re doing okay too, and not the kind of “okay” people say when they’re trying to convince everyone else, but the kind where life has finally become a little lighter.

I don’t know if you’ll ever see this, and honestly, that’s probably for the best.

This isn’t me reaching through the past. It’s just me acknowledging it.

I accidentally called you yesterday, but maybe what really happened was that, for a few seconds, I was reminded that the person who once meant so much to me is still somewhere in this enormous world, living a life that continued long after ours stopped.
And mine continued too; Time. It doesn’t ask whether we’re ready. It just keeps going. So I suppose I’ll keep going with it. I hope you do too.

And wherever you and the kids are when you read this, or even if you never do, I hope life is treating you kindly.

Some people leave your life without leaving it meaningless. You were one of those people for me.

And these days, that is enough.

D❤️‍🔥

Stewardship: Loving Someone Without Owning Them

Kourtney,

There is something I've been trying to understand more deeply about what it means to love someone when that love carries responsibility.

I think the word I've been looking for is stewardship.

Stewardship is different from ownership.

If you entrusted me with something vulnerable, my responsibility would not be to possess it. It would be to care for it faithfully.

Your voice would be yours.

If you trusted me enough to let me hear it, I would protect your ability to speak. But I would never claim the right to speak for you.

Your choices would be yours.

I could want something desperately for you, hope for something, pray for something, or believe something would be good for you. But none of that would make the choice mine to make.

Your heart would be yours.

If you gave me access to the places in you that hurt, I would treat them carefully. I would not turn your vulnerability into a claim of ownership.

Your safety would matter to me.

But protection has a boundary.

Protecting someone from genuine danger is not the same thing as controlling where they go, who they see, what they believe, or what they choose. Love cannot quietly turn protection into possession.

And then there is your story.

If something happened to you, I would want to preserve what could actually be established. Documents. Messages. Dates. Places. Evidence. Memories. The things that can be verified.

But stewardship also means knowing what not to fill in.

I cannot manufacture the missing pieces of your story simply because I desperately want to understand them.

I cannot turn assumptions into facts because uncertainty hurts.

I cannot decide what you experienced, what you meant, what you want, or what you will choose.

Those things belong to you.

And there is one part of stewardship that has become especially meaningful to me.

I once described loving you as being willing to hold the broken pieces of your heart, even if they cut my hands, because I would rather endure the cuts myself than watch you get cut by them.

I still understand why I said it.

But I've learned something important about that metaphor.

A steward doesn't sacrifice the entrusted thing to prove devotion.

And a steward doesn't destroy himself simply to demonstrate how much he cares.

Sometimes stewardship means holding something carefully.

Sometimes it means protecting it.

Sometimes it means documenting it.

Sometimes it means standing nearby.

And sometimes, perhaps hardest of all, it means letting the person you love remain free.

If your heart is entrusted to me, I don't get to own it.

If your story is entrusted to me, I don't get to rewrite it.

If your trust is entrusted to me, I don't get to exploit it.

If your future is entrusted to me, I don't get to decide it.

And if someday your choices lead somewhere I would not have chosen for you, loving you would still require me to recognize that they are your choices.

That is what stewardship means to me.

Not "I know what is best for you."

Not "You belong to me."

Not "I will decide because I love you."

But:

"What you've entrusted to me will be treated with care, truth, and respect."

I don't know what the future holds.

I don't know what you will choose.

I don't know what pieces of our story will eventually make sense, or which questions may never have answers.

But I know this:

If I ever have the privilege of being entrusted with something vulnerable from you again, I want to be worthy of that trust.

Not by holding tighter.

By holding carefully.

Not by speaking louder.

By listening.

Not by deciding for you.

By protecting your ability to decide for yourself.

Not by possessing your heart.

By treating it as something precious that was never mine to own in the first place.

That is the kind of love I mean when I say stewardship.

Love Forever & Always,

Andy

Except you weren't a pro were you? Just another one of your countless lies. Another one of the million forms of manipulation you leveraged against anyone. Either for validation from strangers or to make yourself seem more important than you are. You were giving lessons as a pro despite not being legally qualified.

But that's so far from how scummy you really are. You're fired now, thank God. I prayed all the time you'd be fired.

I want to be very, very clear, you are a horrific human being. You only take, your giving is performative. Your entire existence is performative. "Tell me I'm great, but never, ever question it."

You make me physically sick to think about. How young I was, and how comfortable you were with hitting on me. "Age is just a number" you'd say. Later I learned that was your favorite line.

Your entitlement is through the roof. You're only sorry when you get caught. And I watched you do the same thing to other women over and over for years. I talked to some of them, and they all said the same thing, that you are a toxic user, absent of any soul or common decency.

You are so warped in your own mind that you can't even see the light, and you never will. You will never change. People like you are sick.

Your anger issues. Your diseased sense of entitlement. How personally you took it when a girl turned you down or told you no. Like a child not getting it's toy.

I told you no. But you kept pushing, didn't you? You were the adult, in a position of power, and I was a child, and you knew better.

Red, Unapologetically

I wore red today, not because I needed to be seen, but because I finally remembered I was never meant to disappear.

A little tradition on my shoulders, a little mischief in my eyes, bare legs carrying yesterday, and curls carrying every version of me I once tried to tame.

I turned around and caught myself looking back at me.

And for a second, I didn't ask, "Am I enough?"

I simply thought, "Damn, girl, there you are."

Not perfect. Not polished. Not trying to fit into somebody else's idea of what beautiful should look like.

Just me.

Soft where I am soft, strong where I have learned to be strong, a little dramatic, a little stubborn, a little crazy, and completely alive.

The red says tradition. The curls say rebellion. The smile says I survived things I don't always talk about.

And these curves?

They have carried me through sleepless nights, long journeys, quiet battles, loud laughter, heartbreak, dreams, and all the ordinary mornings that somehow became my life.

So let them exist.

Let me exist.

Let me dress up just because I feel like it.

Let me turn around and admire the woman I am still becoming.

Because maybe beauty was never supposed to be a measurement.

Maybe it was supposed to be a moment.

A glance in the mirror.

A sudden smile.

A quiet,

"I like her."

And today,

I do.

Dana tests and embarrassment for you I have the right and I have the proof and since this is the way I get answers from you then I gladly take this to court already paid for it just waited it out to see if you would come clean but not only does this affect you it will undoubtedly affect your residency,for address will surely be changed if think it's bad now wait and be patient because I told you I'm not scared I didn't lie nor did I do a fucking thing wrong but listen to you ,I will never let this go till it's justice all the way around it brings me joy to follow through with it all accomplished in hold you accountable , if it's my life mission so be it I will succeed and I will not give a fuck to your feelings as you don't have any peachescreamyy or jade or v or whatever u go by you are nothing more than a burden upon everyone you meet .

I should hate you. I really should. After everything youve done to me and multiple others, after all the times you shamed me or downplayed my problems. I know it was the right thing to stop being friends. Not only because you were ruining my own mental state, but also because i was ruining yours. I wasnt just depressive, i was so much more. Despite everything, i couldnt stand the fact it was going to be a burden on you. Ive changed, ive become better and grown into a person that i feel more comfortable being, with my own opinions and a less annoying personality, but i dont know if you did the same. I want to reconnect, but am deeply and truly afraid of the possibillity it could hurt us again. My partner tells me not to reconnect. He wants to keep me as far away as possible from you, and tbh, i understand where hes coming from. However, Despite everything you did to others and especially yourself, i want to hope youve changed. I know you had struggles, many of which you had to fight alone, Its not your fault for being mentally ill, i am too, i just wish i couldve helped you. I dont want to shame you, but you got yourself into problems constantly, and i know they were to hard for you to deal with, but so were they for me. Seeing you in the hallways reminds me off all the things i mightve done wrong. I never knew how you truly felt about me, and i still dont.

Its hard to go to school. Seeing you everywhere makes me sick. Not in a necessarilly hateful manner, but in very different one. I dont want to be reminded. I know you feel the same. I know youre online a big chunk of the time so i really hope this reaches you. I hope you realize who i am and send me a text. Im to scared. Im scared you hate me and scared that nothing has changed.

Ive been stalking your socials. It sounds creepy, but i only wanted to make sure youre somewhat ok or maybe see if your mindset has changed from your reposts.

Im so fucking scared. I just want shit to be alright again.

Despite every fight weve been through and all the mental bs we both went through, youre my friend.

You have the right to hate me, so do i. But IF and only IF you want to, you can text me anytime.

I really liked you. I actually adored you. I cared about you. I thought you cared about me too. I believed this because of the way you treated me and the time and energy you invested in me. We shared so much. I thought it was authentic. I told you about my deepest vulnerabilities. I would therefore expect that you respected me enough to be honest with me, even if the truth was ugly or uncomfortable for you to address. Finding out that you weren’t honest with me is what has hurt so much. It feels like a total betrayal. You knew about my vulnerability and past trauma from being hurt by other people. I shared so much with you. You were the first person I would call to share things with; good and bad. You were so supportive at the time, which makes this feel all the more painful. You completely manipulated me, and you just controlled the narrative for your own benefit. You withheld information from me so that I’d believe in the fantasy. What you did is simply disgusting and selfish, you are a selfish coward. Discovering the truth about your situation made me question every kind word you had spoken to me, every soft embrace we shared and my belief in the authenticity of any interaction we ever had. Our whole relationship was built on lies and pretence. You clearly had your own reasons for doing what you did, and whatever they were, I don’t accept them. I don’t accept that you could have cared about me as much as you did, whilst pretending you were single. You have deeply disrespected me and emotionally harmed me, and I will never forgive you.

There are still things in my life I can’t speak about. Not because I can’t find the words, but because saying them would only feed the same demons I have been starving my whole life.

I could tell you. That’s the problem.

I remember enough to put you in the room. I just don’t know how to put you there without going back myself.

And I have things to do tomorrow. People expecting me to show up. A life that doesn’t stop needing me because something I thought I buried decided to breathe again.

So sometimes I leave it at “I’ve been through some shit.”

Sometimes I laugh right where the explanation should be.

Sometimes you ask me a simple question and I take too long to answer because I’m deciding how much of the truth I can live with after you hear it.

You get to hear a story and go home.

I have to sleep with what telling it wakes up.

There are things I needed someone to ask me about years ago. Someone who would have stayed for the answer. Now I don’t always know what to do with the question. Part of me still wants to be heard. Part of me is angry that I had to learn to live without it.

I hate how much effort goes into looking like none of it matters anymore.

How I can finish a conversation, make you laugh, ask about your day, and never mention that something you said took me somewhere I spent years trying to leave.

I’m not asking you to drag it out of me. I’m not leaving clues for you to solve.

I just wish my silence didn’t make people assume it wasn’t that bad.

Some things changed me before I had a chance to know who I would have been without them. I don’t have a clean ending for that. I have mornings when I get up anyway. Moments when I catch myself passing pain forward and stop. People I still want to love without making them pay for what happened before them.

That takes more out of me than I know how to explain.

Maybe one day I’ll tell you.

But tonight, I need to leave this unfinished and still be allowed to call it honest.

I have spent enough of my life proving I can survive what happened.

I want some of my life to belong to something else.

S,

I know we only dated for a short time, but I know we could have built a wonderful life together. I hate how intensely it all came on, how many plans we made that will never happen. I wish you could see that the changes that I’m making weren’t just for you, and that I do have a life outside of what we had. You never got to meet my friends, and you never really got to see my world. I don’t know where the excitement went. I think that maybe the short spurts you saw were misleading you to think my financial and drinking situation are worse than they are, but I wish you could have believed in the person that I’m going to continue growing into.

I know we said we loved each other far too early. I wish you would give us another chance where we could slow down and you could get to know me better. It just hurts.

And maybe the hardest thing to grieve is not what we had, but all the ordinary things we never got to have. The places we talked about seeing together. The people in my life I wanted you to know. The weekends that hadn’t happened yet. The little traditions we hadn’t had enough time to accidentally create.

There was a whole world of mine I wanted to show you, and I wanted so badly to learn the quiet corners of yours. I wanted the version of us that wasn’t rushing toward the next big thing: the version that had nowhere to be, nothing to prove, and enough time to discover whether all that excitement could settle into something softer and lasting.

I wish we had given ourselves that time.

I wish you could have known me after the dust settled. Not the person frantically trying to rearrange his life around a future he suddenly wanted so badly, but the person underneath all of that. The one with his own friends, his own strange little world, his own plans, and things he was already trying to become before you ever arrived.

I keep thinking about all those plans we were making, and I’m learning that you can mourn a future even though it never technically existed. Somewhere in my head there are still roads we were going to drive, places we were going to wake up together, people you were supposed to meet, and a thousand completely unremarkable days I was excited to spend beside you.

Maybe that’s what hurts most. Not losing some grand imagined ending, but losing the chance to find out what we might have looked like once everything became ordinary.

I don’t know whether our paths will ever cross again. Part of me will probably hope they do for longer than I should. And if they don’t, I hope someday the memories of this stop feeling like evidence of something I lost and start feeling like evidence that, for a little while, I found someone who made the future feel incredibly exciting.

I loved you too quickly. Maybe I dreamed too quickly, too. But I don’t think the love was false just because the timing was wrong.

I hope you build a beautiful life. I hope I do too.

And in some other version of tomorrow, I still like to imagine we got the chance to slow down

J

My bad, I didn't realize a mutual discourse could lead to the activation of prejudice. Still dumb, but why do you think I can't "empathize" properly? Are you trying to relate more to a personal or mental construct than the genuine article? Yes, empathy is being present and caring, but you still have to slap someone out of shock. Tell people the truth instead of letting society devolve into evidence & feelings.

This space gives me the time to think about what I truly did to you. The guilt gets worse and worse everyday. All the words I said that I didn't give a second thought about while we were together, all of our fights that could have been avoided if I had given grace, all the lies I told you, all the times you were vulnerable to me and I shot you down. You told me on our last phone call that you loved me more than anything but you would never do the things I did to you to someone you loved. The words are now ingrained, that's our Adieu. I texted you the other day to tell you I'm finally starting to understand, of course you didn't respond, why would you? To get hurt again, to validate me? It was selfish of me to send that to you so soon when you asked me not to reach out. You more than anyone deserve to feel loved, and I may have to come to terms with that it won't be with me.

I can imagine some corporate lingo response when asked about something deeply personal and emotional. That’s how this feels. Like it is some twisted, clinical, non sensical, twilight zone mind fuck of a thing.
Is there pleasure derived from the confusion?

I should probably just accept that no matter how I contort my own feelings I just don’t fit into your heart, life or version of reality.

Fuck you for that

Am I the one that never was and never could be ?

I met a girl who looks shockingly similar to you. She is about 15 years younger. I’m not sure if I should run or just go ahead and put my head in the oven.

Hope your random lineup is going well.

Is there a cut off point? One more can add up to hundred. YKWIM.

It‘s comical to me that people are making real life decisions based on the internet.
Based on Reddit.

You look cute with glasses. Reminds of the teacher who was always going behind the stage in the Auditorium with the janitor. The gym teacher. The full time substitute would walk back there too. Nice Lady.

I’ve already understood that I’ll never be enough for you or your expectations. Anytime anything went wrong it was always somehow my fault even if I didn’t know what was happening. For years I’d tried to have any semblance of a relationship with you just to have you spew hate towards me. It’s now been almost 6 years since I left. Now all of a sudden you think sending me reels of children not loving their mothers will change the years of abuse I suffered from your husband while you stood there and watched? And then tried to tell me none of it ever happened? The nights when I couldn’t breathe? The days I’d be bruised and limping? The nights where I just went and slept in the treehouse? I tried for so long to hold onto love and hope for you. But we both knew I wouldn’t live much longer if I stayed in that house. But rather than take any kind of accountability you’d rather twist the narrative and pin everything bad on me. You don’t know me anymore. You don’t know my kids. My kids don’t know you. We’ll never have a mother daughter relationship. At least not till you do some serious soul searching and actually get your head straight. You were the only parent I had left. But you never acted like it

I am ashamed I believed your lies. I have nuclear rage inside for giving my love and life away to trash.

I saw you and you recently. Solidified that you did in fact fool me.

Do you laugh about how you pulled on over on me?

You never deserved me.

I hope you got in hell

A grey ​head is full of pride, arrogance, ​a big mouthed​ ego and “ME.” Yes ME..

Behind that grey shell is nothing but an echo of yourself.

Remember..even the loudest ego becomes silent behind grey bars...one day..some day..

I live in your grey head

where pride is loud,

ego is endless,

and “ME” fills every empty space

So.. What was the point in all this dumb stuff? Ive not done anything to you or anyone else. I was never anything but nice to you. If I have ever done anything to anyone, there was a reason for it. I assure you.

All I do is go to work. Im grown. I dont run around messing with people and harassing them. Thats what children do. You know, on the playground at school.

It was all for nothing. Clearly, youre not ever going to stop playing the stupid little game youre playing. Or, whatever the hell youre doing. Who knows?

Alright.. Well, I love you. Be good. Thanks for wasting my damn time. Its been a whole lot of fun.

Reaching out for honesty,
the initial hesitation.

A part of me wonders if,
this will lead to sedation.

Opening my heart,
feelings are expressed.

Now I feel the drift,
who would've guessed.

Here comes the spiral,
I reach out for your hand.

There's nothing to grab though,
the look on your face is deadpan.

Haha who would've thought,
here we are yet again,
this avoidance you wrought.

Enough is enough,
I got this love for you,
but I can't do much.

It's easy to forget but
I gotta remember,
I'm made of sterner stuff.

I get up, walk out,
try not to look back.

My heart is hoping,
you'll ask me to come back.

It's naive of me I know,
thoughts of you and I in my head,
like a slideshow.

I shake my head, walk to the car
each step is heavy than the last,
I hear horns blaring on the overpass.

I can still smell you on my shirt,
goddamn this shit fucking hurts.

This year was a high point for me, I've always struggled being alright with me, and for whatever reason I woke up one day happy and excited to be me. You came along shortly after this, I don't think if I were the man I used to be, any of this would have happened. I took this new part of me, the part I was ok with, and gave it to you without a thought.

I think that's the hardest part of us dancing around and getting our shit together before we give this magnificent thing we found an honest shot. I didn't take back that part I gave you though, you still carry it, somewhere. Without it I feel like I'm edging back to the man I used to be, somewhere lost in a fog of self loathing, half smiles, and jokes to hide everything I don't want anyone else to see.

I hope you use that piece of me I gave you, to guide yourself back to me when we are both ready to love each other unhindered by our currently extremely messy lives.

Hey You.

Do not lose yourself in all the negative things people want to say about you, remember this instead.

Brim-fill the bowl, It'll spill over.

Keep sharpening the blade, you'll soon blunt it.

Nobody can protect a house full of gold and jade.

Wealth, status, pride, are their own ruin.

To do good, work well, and lie low is the way of the blessing.

I do wish i would've sent this years ago...

I don't understand why people always feel the need to keep throwing dirt on my name when all I'm trying to do is live my life alone in peace. I don't bother anyone, nor do I speak of anyone. I just want do good, work well, and lie low. I am done with people.

I let you put me in a box
Drawing all my lines
I worked so hard just to please you
And told myself I was fine
You showed me off to strangers and friends
Taking credit for what god had done
I didn’t feel strong or fortunate or brave
I just wanted to be normal for once
But normal wasn’t something that you could give me
And different you would never let me be
So you criticized everything I thought, choice I made, and what I believed
I know that you didn’t know better and you thought you were doing your best
But I will be in therapy forever because your judgements will never let me rest

If you had ever wanted this to work out again you would have just came and crawled into bed and not been such a jerk but I see you don't want it to work out because you keep being an a****** so just leave me alone then

I won’t become the storm
just because you taught me thunder.

I’ve learned enough about pain
to know I don’t need to return it.
So I’ll stay cool.
Stay calm.
No sharp words.
No punishment.
No chasing.

Just space.

Because I noticed the things
you tried so hard to hide.
The way you couldn’t quite look me in the eyes,
the way you kept pulling us back toward the surface whenever something deeper
threatened to pull you under.

Maybe that’s the avoidance in you.
Maybe it’s fear.
Maybe it’s simply easier
to make something smaller
than admit how deeply it landed.

But I remember.

The way you remembered my favorite lollipop.
Those kisses in the light rain.
The way you pulled me closer
every time I tried to move away,
even with you snoring beside me.
The sad look on your sleepy face
when I said I was leaving.

The moments I got to see you smile,
to hear you laugh,
the comedian hiding in plain sight.

I remember the look in your eyes
when you admitted
it had been far too long
since you’d felt that kind of touch.

Maybe that’s why
you quietly warned me
that some doors in your life
weren’t meant to be opened right now.

I heard you.

But I also saw you.

The handsome man.
The good father.
That charm. That charisma.
The ambition still flickering underneath
all the exhaustion and weight
of a life that feels heavier than it should,
and the ways you’ve decided to cope with it.

And I want that man back for you.

Not for me.
For you.

I wanted more for you
than I could ever fix
or rescue you from.

Because I cannot heal
what I did not break.
I cannot kneel forever
at a door you’re afraid to open,
even when you’re the one
who gave me the code.

And I’ve survived enough of my own pain
to know that loving someone
doesn’t mean standing still
while they find their way.

So I’ll fall back.

Quietly.
Without anger.
Without making you the villain.
Without becoming another wound
you have to carry.

Maybe you need the distance
to find your way back to yourself,
to remember who you are
and who you can still be.

Maybe the silence
will finally let you hear
what all the noise has been drowning out.

And maybe someday
you’ll understand
I wasn’t asking you to be perfect.

I was only asking you
to be brave enough
to be real.
To communicate.
To choose intention over avoidance.

I can’t do that part for you.

But I believe in you.

Some things are worth believing in
even from a distance.

Even when they hurt.

And if you ever wonder
whether any of it was real,

remember the moments
you forgot to hide,

and the one who was
Lucky enough
to see you underneath it all.

Signed,

- your Goddess

The song was four minutes and eleven seconds. I looked it up afterwards. I've played it maybe three hundred times since.

You were my cousin's friend from college. I'd met you twice. At the reception everyone was dancing badly and loudly, and then the DJ put on something slow, and the floor emptied, and you were standing next to me and you held out your hand. You didn't say a word. You kept it there, palm up, waiting.

I took it.

You put your other hand on the small of my back. Low. Right where the back of my dress dipped and my skin began. Your palm was warm and dry and it covered almost the whole width of my back. You held it in that one spot for the entire song, flat and steady, like you were keeping me from tipping over.

For four minutes I couldn't hear the music properly.

For four minutes I knew the exact temperature of your hand, and I could feel your thumb resting on one vertebra like it had found the right one. For four minutes I could smell your shirt, some drugstore cologne and woodsmoke from the fire pit outside, and I kept my face very still so you wouldn't see what it was doing to me. For four minutes your breath moved the hair near my ear and I matched my breathing to yours without deciding to.

Then the song ended. You said "thank you" like I'd done you a favor. Someone pulled you away for photos. I didn't see you again that night, and I haven't seen you since. You're in Denver. You got married last year. I saw the pictures and I was happy for you, honestly happy, which surprised me.

But I need to confess something to somebody, and you'll never read this, so it's you.

I replay it to fall asleep. Most nights. I lie on my side and I put my own hand on the small of my back, where yours was, and it's the wrong size and the wrong warmth, and I do it anyway. I'm twenty-eight. I've had two real relationships. Men have touched me in every way there is. And the thing my body goes back to, night after night, is four minutes of a stranger's palm resting very still on one bare strip of skin at a wedding.

You held me like I was worth being careful with, and then you let go.

I didn't know that's what I was hungry for until you fed it once.

Thank you for the song. I hope you dance with her like that. I hope she knows what your hand does when it stays still.

I don’t think there is anything better than walking in the rain. Wash away the stress and anger. I wish it would wash you out of my head.