2. I miss your analogies — I felt like they were slivers of yourself you gave me for safekeeping, pockets of warmth pressed firmly into my palms. Sometimes... I think I hurt you too, in a different sort of way than you did me. Now all that I am trying to tell you is how sorry I am — I am a living, breathing, moving apology. I will be for all my days. 

3. I am not someone you want to touch like this. There is inevitable hurt lying in these veins, ready to give itself away to you if you shake me up too hard. I hope you channel your affection somewhere, someplace more worthy of it. I am no place to call home.