saint of reluctance.
you held my hands in yours, and you said something that sounded a lot like 'i love you.' but it came out all wrong, didn't it, in the quiet and the dark?
you had taken small bites of my heart for a year or two, chewing carefully, not wanting to choke on the tough meat. so when you finally put down your fork, my saint, your stomach was only half full, and i was half belonging to someone else.
stolen away under the cover of those stars we knew so well and peeking out from behind the smoke i blew in your face, we both knew it was the end of something that had never started, something that could only be that moment, dissolving in acidic truth and whisky.
each time you held back and each time you couldn't fight hard enough to make me yours and each time we ate dinner across from one another in silence, they gathered together that afternoon to tell you that i would never belong to you.
