Your hands were soft and gentle. Sending electricity through my skin when you brushed them against me.
Your hands helped hold me up, whenever I could not do so myself.
I fell in love with your hands, and how they had the ability to keep me safe. They were always gentle and could never hurt a fly.
But something changed in you. Your hands were no longer soft and gentle. They were rough and cracked.
They no longer sent electricity through my skin, but instead left bruises. Instead of helping hold me up, they dropped me to the ground.
I didn't feel safe in your hands anymore. I once thought your hands would never hurt a fly, but then those hands became the hands that killed me.