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in december you took of your father's gloves so you could hold my hand without a barrier. although we've kissed since then, and i've kissed that other boy and that other boy. and that other boy's legs hit against mine. and thighs overlap. and heads touch as we lean closer. he's hugged me, and she's hugged me. but it's meaningless. or it's accidental. or it's sexual. and no one else has reached out since you. and it's these thoughts that make me sick.

at shows i let my hands hang down and hope you will accidently hit them. and. just. stay that way. for one second longer than you ought to.