“Behind Closed Ribs?”
The question hangs there.
I avoid his gaze.
I need more time to hide my emotions.
“Yeah.” I swallow. “But what does it mean?”
To you,I want to say.
“This lyric?” he repeats,
buying time, deciding how to answer it.
How simple or deep he wants to go.
“It’s like?—
“love’s about how good you make someone else feel.
“It’s notyouthey love, it’s what yougive‘em.
“What theygetoutta you.
“What you got to offer.
“If you fill what they’re missin’.
“And once you stop or fuck up?
“Poof.They’re gone.
“But bein’ known?”
He glances down at the tattoo,
where my thumb’s brushing.
“That’s somethin’ else. That's not bein' someone's other half or fillin' their void. It's not bein' turned into a mirror for someone else’s needs. It’s them seein’you. Not what you do, not what you give, but who you are when you ain’t givin’ shit.”
He drags a thumb across the edge of the ink,
then my hand.
“Just you—wholly you and everything you are. And that be enough.”
He’s looking down at the tattoo,
like it’s not words he’s seeing but faces.
“That song... it hit too close.
“So I made sure it couldn’t leave me.”
My heart’s either racing so fast it stalled
or it’s abandoned me completely.
