Her hands, cold and steady,
wasn’t meant to comfort me.
It wasn’t meant to soothe.
It was meant to claim,
to remind me of my place,
where I belonged.
And I belonged to her.
Her cold hands were a weight
that made me melt,
that made me forget myself,
and I let it happen,
letting go of everything I was
to become what she wanted.
What she needed.
Coz it was never about me,
not really.
It was always about her.
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