given over.

there were small words slightly bearing resemblance to "thank you" on my lips, but i just sighed heavily as you worked your hands over tense cramped muscles in my back. they'd been hurting since i set foot back in austin, our hospice environment, our sweet little mourning town. i kept my words to myself, tightly cramped inside a little box in my mind, like jumping beans clacking against the lid.

i've had experiences where words weren't enough. this fickle language trapping any meaning behind idioms and social connotations or lacking enough syllables to say what i really mean. i always put too much emphasis on the words that don't mean a goddamn thing and save the provoking thoughts for under my breath.

so i say nothing and give these bruised muscles to your ten fingers.