It said it better than if you had said it outright
One part fiction and the other part who you really were.

A song or a dance or a handprint was your way of getting around the responsibility of words. A language that left no breadcrumbs to follow all the way back to its leader.This was your way of skipping over crocodiles, leaping about their backs and moving so swiftly that they did not have time to steal your feet. Questions were preludes to vilifications that I deserved, like curiosity should have been out of the question. I fished down into your mind and caught my own prejudices and you handed them back with painful understanding. I think you’d pull out your nails for fear people might notice but always put them back before anyone could notice.

‘Notice me’ they might cry, but don’t say anything. You have a wall about you and were only suddenly aware of when people accidentally find themselves trying to climb it. Those times were like moments when something precious and needed blows away in the wind and is caught at the last second. I caught your desire for me between my fingers before I had to let go of it. My syllables are my only way of scratching my name onto your mind and leaving something in your memory, not so I might own what is yours but so that you might remember me.