i remember ice that felt like fire.
it was strong, undiluted,
  better than usual.
i stood for about ten seconds
before gravity pulled me to the pavement and tore open my skin.
  
two voices shouted my name
and two hands that were not mine lifted me off the ground
  and carefully sat me back down.
i saw the blood, but i felt nothing
except for the ice running through my veins.

ice isn't supposed to burn though.

i thought about that in between
being force-fed bites of a snickers bar and
  being reminded not to close my eyes
as more hands that were not mine
held damp paper towels against my damaged body.

my eyelids were so heavy and all i wanted to do was sleep,
but your voice urged me to stay awake, to talk to you.
  you laughed when i said i didn't know what to talk about
and i cried when you asked me if i was scared
because oh god i was terrified.

it's been weeks.
a part of me is still terrified,
  but another part of me craves it,
craves it like a person is supposed to crave
the oxygen they breathe.

and that is what terrifies me the most.

I love the way you draw circles on my skin,
Moving from my collarbone
To my neck
To my jaw
To my lips.
I love it when your fingers
Trace the scars along my hips.
I love it when you fall asleep in my bed,
Even though you’re sober enough
To drive home.
I love how you stay with me
When I don’t want to be alone.
I love the way you hold the door,
And how even after seeing you for hours,
I’m still left wanting more.
I love all the little things you do,
But just to be clear:
*I don’t love you.