I remember these things like raindrops on my skin, subtle beats that set up this pitter patter echoed on the inside of my bones. Words and words and your touch. I remember your touch, even if you don’t want me to. I’ll remember it, and say nothing to you, and know that you won’t read this, that you don’t read this, because if you did, you’d know even when I wandered off, I still thought of you. I came back.
I always come back.
Two holes in my chest and one in my left eye, and I still came back.
Don’t you love me, baby?