Listen to that old song-
"love, love, it's who you know":
And I know you, and I don't.
And it matters and it doesn't matter.

And I can still see your face,
And I am still kissing you goodbye,
And I am still replaying a night over and over on that screen in the back of my mind.

I was sure. Then I wasn't. And now I am sure again.
I want to take your hand and tell you this:

I love you. You already know. You already know. I am putty in your hands. I put the iron bracelets around my wrist and pulled them tight and the bruises were sweet and I could imagine you were holding me. I looked at my body under the bathroom lights and I shut my eyes and remembered how you saw me, exposed, at your mercy.

How do I tell you that I need you?

How do I tell you I have always needed you?

You, calm, brilliant, kind, beautiful.

I am putty in your hands,

My stranger/friend.

My love.

A wise man said once - we make our own traditions.

And I want to make them with you.

And I can still see your face,

And I am still kissing you goodbye.