The first time my shaking palm clasped the back of your neck, tickling the hairline. Foreheads together I asked your health. Are you ok? Are you hurt? I was worried? You assured me all was well, just another day. Shakily I trusted and moved onward.
The second time I let fog be my vision as my clammy hand fumbled to grasp the reassuring warmth of yours. You whispered away my fears enveloping me and placing me on my reading chair. Humming you held my hands around a steaming cup of tea. You told me all was well, just another day. Quietly cracked I trusted and moved onward.
The fourth time cardinal red seeped into oak floorboards. A cold chill lingered as metal left my palm for the key bowl. Bag in hand and collar up the door closed and I left you to rot. Just another day. Numbly I moved onward fingers lingering on my scarred wrist. Just another day.