Maybe a bruise would have been better Or some other mark, a tangible record of the damage At least then I’d have clearer fragments to sift through. You left me with nothing but brief moments, Sprinkled in the spaces between your kindness, Of covert cruelty, and you said it was all me. So now I’m grasping onto thin strings Desperately trying to weave my story together, But I’m not sure where I end And where your damage begins. - Christina Marando