If he's always ok
and I never am,
and he asks how I'm doing
every day that I see him...
Is it the perfect fit?
Or comically destructive?
Do I bring him down
like he brings me up?
That wasn't what I wanted.
But he doesn't seem to mind it.
In fact he almost seems to like me.
I make him smile,
and he proves what they all can't:
that I can make someone happy.
Just by being me.
It's not love.
Who knows if I'll get there again?
But I'm not trying with him.
I just want to see him happy.
I want to practice being a good friend.
Try to understand,
he's shown me that I want to feel.
And that I can.
How can I thank him?
Will he know?
My friends and family won't know who to thank
when I let them hold me more.
And my children won't know,
if I do end up having them,
that it was this guy,
on cold nights,
that held me just right again.
YOU ARE READING
The Tempest Collection
PoetryIt's icy and suddenly it's my job to clean it up. Good thing I sort of know what I'm doing now.
