I find

It’s starting to happen again. Conversations in an empty car. Plans that will never live in the light. Expectations that died at the moment of conception.

But I find that if I let you come inside of my head and wander around, if I stay still and let you touch and look at things, you go away much more easily. Otherwise I just try to haul you out and your feet grow into the floor.

So do your thing, if you must-

but nothing you touch is yours.