consoling

I want to reach into your chest and help your heart. To squeeze it for you, to pump your blood.
You need to rest. I want to help. Let me help.
Close your eyes, I’ll breathe for the both of us.
But I can’t say the things I should be saying⸻I don’t know how. My parents never taught me to be delicate with my words, my mouth, my tongue. I’m not sure what to do with my hands⸻they’re clumsy, mangled⸻they’re so rough and undeserving on your skin. I can’t do anything, but I try. I try to repeat the kind words I’ve heard before, the cookie cutter things, the things you hear in movies⸻but they come out all rushed and deceitful.
I promise I’m not lying. I want you to be better. I want to help.
My ugly hands rest over your chest, where your heart should be, but you pull away. And I stop trying. Sorry.

Author Notes: interlude 2 of my larger project called "spacing out"

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