A Touch.

She tells her story as it’s the last one she’s going to tell. Holding me with her soft hands as if I were never to be touched again. I take in her smell like, breathe in, breathe out. She asks me if she could and I said, “you may.” Slowly she felt each part of me, next thing I knew I was being ripped apart, with her tender hands. She smiled and held me back up again. Did she forget she was trying to break me?