I don't even want to hold you anymore.
You did it. You Won.

I know now I am nothing to you but something to dwell on in the hidden places
A hand to hold when it's too dark to see

But I could always see
And because of that, I started to see you.

If it didn't mean anything when you traced my palms what compelled you to do it? Do you even remember the moment you suddenly cupped my cheek with your palm oh so gently and then just as quickly pulled away? My skin refuses to forget.

And after these three years of whatever this was, I give up. I can't become another story; that's all we end up being to you, stories. Even the ones who think they made it, that is all they become. I will leave, I am leaving so please spare me at least of that.

You won.