by ty


so we play this game, who leaves the other first, knuckles grazing when the lights go out. your name is a prayer always skirting the outline of my lips, my fingers grappling for reassurance when I can no longer see three inches from where I stand. when the lights come on there is only ever me.

we are defined by the negatives as much as we are the positive; these ebbing absences in the cracks in our palms and gaps in our teeth will only remind us to hold future hands tighter, hold numbered breaths quieter.

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