He had this way of holding my hand when we were out walking at night. The press of people would force us to go single file and he would bend his arm behind his back, holding my hand against him, never letting go, never losing me in the crowd.
He had this way of introducing me. Shy, and never quite sure how he should but proud, too. Presenting me as proof of us, of our life.
He had this way of laying his arm across my waist when we lay in bed at night. Not quite holding, not quite not. And sometimes he would rub my back, so gently. But that was when he was really trying.
He had this way of fading. Of putting his care down on a table in some crowded bar and forgetting to bring it home with him.
He had this way of leaving. Only his body stayed right where it was and so I had to be the one to walk out the door and take the blame for it all.
Gosh Darn Sunlight 