You...you...oh. I see.
So when I've been there, arms tight round him so thin so strong so weak so warm and gentle kisses to his cheek and holding his voice full of tears in my heart and stretching into the place where he slept once he's gone and crying on his shoulder in the night and talking into his silence, silence, always, till I trail to a halt and have to kiss him, and my fingertips at his back and his. Voice. Words. Oh god. God. All through it, you...he...really.
So how long for? When he held me upright and I stood in his sightlines for reasons of his and my own and I screamed into the wood of the walls for grief and jealousy?
When we lay laughing at the television, drifting lost in the heart of the music, or laughing at the music, drifting lost in the heart of the evening, can't hear that song again without feeling you right there in my arms not ever ever and edged. C . l . o . s . e . r. a n d closeruntilwewerewrappedtogetherand did. nothing. more because you needed sleep bless your heart?
When I surprised myself by staying, held a friend close god no, lost, *gone*, it can't really be true please let me wake up now and then in darkness watched cartoon surreality "this is the silliest stuff that ever I heard"...you're drunk, drink more, drink until you want to kiss me and suddenly burned and bruised one another with kisses and words and so beautiful and not even a moment's sleep, not even a second's?
If it's newer than that, you know, that explains an awful lot. I step back. I won't. Touch him. Again.
I didn't know - for what it's worth, I didn't know because he didn't mention it, I. I. I wouldn't have done anything if I'd known, she did enough of that for everyone.
I love her too, it's always made it difficult. You know?
Maybe you don't know.
I swear I won't...I can't swear I won't. I can't. But if you want I can try not to touch him. I can. I can see he doesn't need me any more. If he ever even did. You couldn't know how much I care for him, and he *mustn't* know, but if you can...well, then he'll...and I can rest.
And I know just why it hurts that she holds you when you cry:
I thought I was the only one who cared enough to try.
Later : I went to look again, to see what I'd missed; I'd read it in your words, but not his.
He's long had a picture that twisted my heart but that is something else and I am twitching broken on the floor. Fucking empathy. Better off without it.
You're not in his words, or you're where I can't see you.
I wish I'd known when I needed to know.
Even later : Is this a competition? It shouldn't be, you've won. So please stop hurting me more; please.
Whatever he is to you, you are more to him than I am, and that is enough. Enough.
Stop. I can't take it; looking over the fence into your garden and trying to take one little star I'm burned to ashes. Stop. Take him. Just take him.
But please, only take him if you can help.
Because I'm not going through this again.