Sadness is a sickness, you explained to me one day.
I agreed quietly, reaching out and grabbing your hand, it made me feel safe.
I understood what you meant, how it felt.
I found the cuts on your arms in gym, I see all kinds of injuries. I always look on anyone I see, a harsh side effect of what I did too.
You don't grab my hand anymore, instead I have to beg you until you grab my hand. I know I'm annoying you but I don't mean too, you calm me, you know.
You explained to me how you didn't want me to catch the sickness, I retaliated by saying I had already caught it.
You don't laugh anymore, you're voice doesn't change pitch anymore. I'm always cold and on the verge of panic.
I grabbed your hand today, a bold move on my part. You were cold too.
I laid on the floor in the bathroom today. There was a lot of red. I saw you too, how panicked you looked. I didn't understand until you grabbed my hand, and you were warm. You were panicked because I was so cold, but I didn't mind.
You calm me, you know?
