In the car lacking conversation, you wrote our names in the condensation. Maybe we should sit and talk for a while. I just want to see you smiling. You're looking for something more. I've given you all I can afford. The key's in the ignition and you've locked the doors. I held you and we swayed to Where is My Mind in the kitchen of a party in mid-July. Later, I was surprised to find that my t-shirt had a wet shoulder from where you'd been crying. Avoiding my eyes to hide your pupils as they shrink, but battered eyelids are hard to blink. (I was your illness but you found a cure, I'll pretend that's exactly what I hoped for.) I realise, now, that I can't live without the side you've shown that no one knows. Now you've grown out of me, I hope I'm not a bad memory.