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Shirt
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I see the way you always have that turtleneck pulled up over your collar bone. Everyday I notice it, and I'm not sure what to think of it. I know the secrets that are beneath that fabric, and I know the cotton on your back caresses something that should not have had to be there.
I can't help wondering if he put it there because of me. Maybe I hadn't come along, you wouldn't have to have those scars tracing your thin frame beneath that stretched fabric. And, yeah, I do feel responsible. I kind of feel like I coerced you into showing me what had been etched into your skin, and because of that, it had to be burned off.
I hate that shirt now. Don't ask. We both know you know me too well to question my unusual taste. It's just to easy to project any feelings of doubt onto the thing that covers my mistakes. I guess I'm just trying to apologize. So here. I'm sorry.
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