before you left i dragged you the mall, we actually took your car
and I told you about the skin under my thigh that felt like a mountain
pasture and then we went into Teavana where the cashier manipulated me
into buying forty dollars worth of tea leaves and I felt like **** afterwards
because i hadn't really wanted to buy forty dollars of tea leaves. You didn't
roll up your sleeves, but you stopped me in the middle of the walk way by
Starbucks and the American Girl store and took the bag. You took my wallet,
my receipt, my heart, and told me stay there. When you came back, you said
you had returned it.  I stood in awe of you, ready to cry. You had skin, lungs,
eyes and a mouth, living, breathing, ready to lie at my expense.  That was the first
time I held your arm in months. Looking back, maybe it was only child parts of me
clinging to the one person that continued to stand up for me, i don't know. i really don't
know.

I still have that receipt.