his knuckles are bruised and swollen and his hands shudder slightly as i brush my fingers across them. i feel the pain radiating off of him as intensely as the sun on my neck, and it leaves me with a weight in my chest i can’t seem to shake. i can’t look at his eyes when i whisper

“why do you do this to yourself?” i know, i know, i know,

“every time i am harsh with myself,” he says, turning his hands over to grasp mine, “i remember to touch you more gently.”