You sit at a piano
We're outside and we're cold.

We're talking about second chances
Now we're apart, now we're old.

I feel your shoulders. You got more toned.
In contrast to anorexia, my fingers have gotten fat.

I miss you, you miss me,
I leave. Almost.

And then you say, you still have to work on things,
The way you talk, what you think, and what you want.

And I am proud of myself for getting angry
For throwing your pride and prejudice right back at you.

I say that you're not perfect either
Your voice, your touch, and your respect for me:

I've had better. But I still want you.
And I know it. And I'm glad you know it now.