palms are sweating. why are my palms always sweating. like holding onto something slippery that i can't afford to drop. the lego digging into my heel , that's NOTHING compared to the way my heart flips when they say it like that, 'i love you' and all the edges soften, but then the knowledge that this is all just borrowed time. someday they won't say it anymore, not to me anyway, and i'll trade ten years of these godforsaken cold coffees for just one more moment of this blind adoration. the way they look at you like you're magic, and you're just trying to keep it together. i miss painting.