He noticed the little things Like how she would cry and grip the steering wheel Pull over, And pinch the inside of her palm As if trying to reignite the fire that her tears put out How she held on to her skin so tight That the tips of her fingernails changed from rosy pink To a suffocating and painful ivory How she would cry and cry And how she would wait until her palms bled And how she sniffled one last time, Wiped her palms on her pants How every time she did this, she drove home silently She noticed how he could not say a word How he must be utterly repulsed by her By how turned around she gets He must not be able to react to her abnormal ways Of dealing with copious amount of stress and anxiety She noticed the little things Like how he wouldn't know how to take care of her How she was trapped How she couldn't pinch herself out of this world How she didn't want to die, But simply cease to exist How she knew she couldn't ask him to help her "Can you pinch me out of this world?" "I can't." "Why not?" "You're the only person I have that brings me back When I sometimes pinch myself too hard." They also failed to notice the larger things Like how he held her in his lap And let her pinch to make her stop crying How she brushed his hair back when he couldn't stop How they kept a box of tissues in the car for moments like this When the other would need to pinch for a while To make the crying stop To deal with this abnormal way of coping with things To make the other remember That it might not be so bad to have someone to help you Get out of a pinch, after all.