I got nervous that day just like you did except I'm real good at hiding mine. Really good. Especially when I have to be strong for someone else, I'm a pro at that. I'm strong for everyone. My sister, my mom, my friends, my students, you. I'm really good at shoving my troubles into the pit of my stomach for the sake of someone else, because maybe if I keep this whole strength-facade I'll actually be it. But you wanted to touch the nape of my neck and I'm sorry but I can't because I can still feel the pressure of a hand there sometimes, and then you outlined my throat and it was so similar to what she did and it was so overwhelming so I just stayed silent, stayed silent while you were testing me. And I know that you were because I'm good with reading people, even people like you that aren't good with words so you use examples and stories to express what you feel. And you told me that you thought I was going to get bored with you and that you felt you weren't good enough and all I kept thinking was not yet, not yet, not yet. Just let it flow. Don't do anything yet. And then you got so shaky, and so unstable, and I didn't know what to do, because I thought you were going to get angry and I expected anger and I was prepared for it but you were just so helpless and I didn't know why, and I wanted to envelope you with my arms and never let you leave and I don't know why, and then you told me that you weren't comfortable with me being with other people and I just kept thinking "this is like a relationship" and I tried to seem angry or distanced but I wasn't. I wasn't, I wasn't bothered by it at all, and I just kept feeling relieved but why? And now talking to other people is harder and Antonella sent me a text the other day and I didn't reply and she's beautiful but she doesn't mean a thing to me, what beauty when you don't feel it, when there's nothing beyond it? But maybe I'm overthinking it and I shouldn't, because it's not my place, because this is what I wanted, isn't it? But I just hope you'll outline my throat again. It's the closest you've gotten to touching me, after all. And maybe it might erase all the lingering bruises and fingers tracing it and it'll be empty and my own again. Or yours, but why doesn't that bother me as it should it's driving me up the wall