Six years ago, I developed a shake in my hands
As they carried the weight of a love,
I was too young to understand.
But had convinced myself I couldn't live without.
Now the only reminders I have of a life,
I no longer miss are my terrible cursive.
And problems holding my cutlery right
When I sit at the table on family occasions.

And I know my mother still worries from time to time,
I guess after so long she's learning to realise
More often than not when I'm silent it means that I'm already sorry
For not speaking up, for not using my voice to talk about what I've been going through.

And that's why I'm scared of you,
Because even before I had chance to explain
You were tending to my wounds and soothing my aches.
I never thought I'd feel comfort again.

And I know what this is because my hands have stopped shaking,
I hesitate to call it by name,
Just in case that it gets taken away again.
I know that it's love, but what if I'm not enough?

Because regardless of how soft the touch we still bruise and I break
When I about how it must look to you.
As I tremble and shake in the bed that we've only just started to make.