you walk inside my house and you sit on my kitchen floor and you ask me 'where have you been all these years?' i tell you i have been ripping out my hair, taking out fingerprints of past lovers and i tell you that you cannot stay here. that the floor he is sitting on is fragile and it will break when he tries to stand up. i tell him that handprints aren't beautiful. and neither are the sound of footprints. i tell him that hands were made to touch things, and feel things, but they were never taught to heal things. he begins to touch me and the floor cracks a little bit and he tells me 'why don't you sit here for a while?' i tell him that my skin is as delicate as a flower and the moment he lays another finger on me my petals will fall and i will wither faster than he can say 'come back. i am so sorry'. 'no. you cannot stay here' my hair begins to fall and a couple of strands land on his head and he doesn't notice. i say 'steven you cannot stay here' he insists 'no steven you cannot stay here'
well what do you want me to do
i want you to leave
but
no steven get out
I THOUGHT YOU TOLD ME YOU WERE FRAGILE. the minute i step out of here this house will fall and it will fall with rage like an avalanche that knows no mercy another traffic challenge with a child stuck inside. no i am not leaving. this floor will not prevent from breaking WHY DON'T YOU SIT HERE AWHILE.
he begins to touch me again 'DON'T TOUCH ME I SAID THE MINUTE YOU LAY HANDS ON ME DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND YOU WILL LEAVE HANDPRINTS THAT DON'T WASH OFF MEMORIES THAT DON'T FADE BROKEN BOTTLES OF LIQUOR THAT NEVER CLEAN THEMSELVES DIDNT I TELL YOU HANDPRINTS WEREN'T BEAUTIFUL.
well let me love y
NO. get out. get out steven. i don't love you anymore. get out of my house
you will br
i don't care. get out.