Remembering the exact way his hand fit into hers.
Every ridge of his finger prints, like papier-mâché mountains.
It was all held together with glue, meant to be washed away with the rain.
And she said, "I don't know if it's me."
She said, " I don't know if it's me."
She said, "I don't know if it's me, or you."
Sep 10, 2010
Sep 10, 2010 at 8:22 PM UTC
Remembering the exact way his hand fit into hers.
Every ridge of his finger prints, like papier-mâché mountains.
It was all held together with glue, meant to be washed away with the rain.
And she said, "I don't know if it's me."
She said, " I don't know if it's me."
She said, "I don't know if it's me, or you."