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we flay open our wounds,
and as a consequence,
we bleed.
i remember you
in the twist of songs,
in late night whispers, late night calls,
in scratches of half-forgotten notes in manilla folders.
it's a funny thing when a goodbye is half-empty --
the gate doesn't always clasp shut.
things can only be fixed when both sets of hands bring tools.
you saw the tear and thought our clumsy fingers
would only make it grow.
and you're right, im no good at needle and thread.
but for you, i thought i could learn.
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& after this i know i'll grow stronger.
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