1. the ache of a peeled fingernail—

2. the overexposure of a summer’s midday—

3. the dent of your teeth on her skin—

4. the taste of saltwater after a concussion—

i couldn’t fit you in my heart if i tried: all your light and sweetness and softness against my tiny heart, my unkempt hands, my too-wide mouth.

you should’ve left when i yelled the first time; then the second; then the wrong words, the bad timing, the foggy memories. you should’ve left and i shouldn’t have allowed you so near.

i love you (curse) i love you (plea)

i am afraid you are so much—and not what i wanted. i’m not sure what i wanted; the empty feeling again, the hurt, the feeling of being small; senseless, useless, unimportant enough to not matter what i do or feel. and you are so much; lively and smart and soft and caring and beautiful and and and

you are holding my hand and i am so afraid.

i am not what you need but i am what you want—refeeding syndrome—and you are what i need but not what i want—avitaminosis—and i am so afraid. this is just me saying i am afraid.