(work in progress)

The first love of my life never saw me naked.
There was always a parent coming home in half an hour,
Always a little brother in the next room.
Always too much body and not enough time for me to show it.

Instead, I gave him my shoulder, my elbow, the bend of my knee.
I lent him my corners, my edges, the parts of me I could afford to offer,
The parts I had long since given up trying to hide.
He never asked for more.

He gave me back his eyelashes, the back of his neck, his palms.
We held each piece we were given like it was a nectarine that could bruise if we weren't careful.
We collected them like we were trying to build an orchard

inspo// w.i.p :-)

Tonight, I raised my hand to my face
to brush away an untamed curl of hair,
and when it slid past my nose, it smelled
suddenly of you. Not your cologne, or
the soap you use, not shampoo or aftershave.
That skinsmell I find tucked into your
neckplace//
I held very still and closed
my eyes, trying to keep whatever particles
of you I managed to steal, until even my
inhale meant losing you. So then I didn’t
breathe at all, just held my hand against my
cheek, and for a moment, felt that it was you //

_

your scent lingers just like you
>leaving
>never coming

no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. believe me, i’ve tried.