a glass bottle coke

I know people that turn into museums after the wrong people touched them, holding all of the beautiful things inside and not letting anybody close enough to see any details. I know people who dress their seasonal depression up in Sunday’s best. I know people who tuck their trauma in with them at night and roll over every morning to wake it up again. I know people who can’t quite look you in the eyes because they stare at the stars the same way, never going to be within reach no matter how hard you pretend you’re an astronaut. I know people who hold hands like they’re gripping the edge of a bridge and one loose finger might send them over the edge. I know people who can never hear the words I love you without looking over their shoulder first.