• Vol. 01
  • Chapter 07
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You may not remember, but you said I had the boniest little elbows you'd ever felt dig into your chest.
I had never thought of myself as angular, mostly because my collarbone swept in along my shoulders instead of jutting out, defiant and dancer-like, from my frame.
But my elbows - I suppose they are bony. You had to roll me away from you to prevent bruising.

You may not remember, but you cringed with crazed delight as I drew circles in your palms.
My hands were impatient, you see, always working, kneading, tracing, as if a charge had concentrated at my fingertips and sought to realize a circuit.
But my fingers - I suppose they drove you mad. You had to move my hands away to prevent connection.

You may not remember, but you whispered into my hair the things that I wanted to hear.
I listened, because I could hear your voice over the rain, the wind, the rustling leaves, the television next door, and the echoes of footsteps in the hall.
But my ears - I suppose I should not have trusted them. You had to avoid my eyes to prevent truth.

I could be happier now.
My mattress never complains of bony elbows.
My pillow never mocks my moving fingers.
My silent room never keeps me awake.

But how I hate sleeping alone.