They had all of you without asking. You held no pieces back. Everything was on display and up for grabs. You wanted to share yourself with them, but when you got caught up in it all you realized that instead of sharing, you gave it all away. You gave away too much, and when they made their final exit, all you had left as proof that they had ever been there was skin you had stretched far too wide in the hopes of making them into a part of you. They didn’t take your pieces with them. All the things you gave them sat in a pile by the door, waiting for you to put it all back together. The songs you shared with them on that rainy Sunday. The passages from your favorite book you read with their head in your lap. The secrets coffee shop you never took anyone to. Even after they left, the little pieces you gave them held a different taste than they did before. All the pieces were still yours, but in a way that seemed changed.