Old bruises, new balm.
“What did you want to be liked for?” he asked, fitfully catching me off guard.
I searched for the right words and found none.
I shrugged. “The whole deal,” I said.
“What whole deal?”
Adjectives failed me again.
“I don’t want to someone,” I groped, “to buy the mansion because they like the pool . . . If you catch my drift.”
“I do catch your drift,” he said, slowly, “but I am trying to tell you that you are the whole deal, and I thought you were back then, too.”
I had not the effort left to hurt
I could not find the energy in my bones to weep
you had cut so deep I clean forgot to bleed