Hard To Give To

"That was really good." — "It was mostly the mix."

"You look well." — "It's the shirt, it's a good shirt."

"I'm proud of you." — and I made a joke.

I made a joke so fast it was practically a reflex.

Watch me do it. It's genuinely impressive.

Somebody hands me something warm and I hand it straight back.

And I've told myself it's modesty

for about fifteen years —

Hard to give to. (hard to give to)

Hard to give to. (hard to give to)

Call it humble. It's a wall.

Every time you hand me something my hands are full on purpose.

Hard to give to. (hard to give to)

And you keep trying anyway,

and I have no idea what to do with that.

Here's the actual reason, which took a while:

if I let the good thing in, I have to hold it,

and if I hold it, I can lose it,

and I have a fairly detailed history of losing things.

Deflecting is insurance.

It's cheap and it works and it costs me every warm moment of my life.

So you're standing there with something in your hands

and I'm doing the joke again —

Hard to give to. (hard to give to)

Hard to give to. (hard to give to)

You've been trying to say a nice thing to me

since about the second week we met.

Hard to give to. (hard to give to)

Nobody should have to fight

to be kind to somebody.

So say it again. The one from the other night.

I heard it. I did the joke. Say it again.

...

Okay.

Okay. Thank you.

That's all I've got. That's all there is.

"Thank you." Nothing after it. No joke on the end.

Hard to give to. (hard to give to)

Hard to give to. (hard to give to)

But I'm keeping that one — it's in the pocket,

I'm taking it out later when nobody's about.

Hard to give to. (hard to give to)

And you got one in.

Do it again. I'll try to stand still.