I write poems to Him now.
Full of I love you’s and I miss you’s, and his story
Is my world.
Everything has meaning now.
When I’m alone,
And the sun filters through my curtains,
I think of His
Fingers stroking my skin;
My shoulder, down, down, down.
Not everything is easy, but He’s the only one
That keeps the nightmares away.
As he holds me in his arms,
While snow falls outside and coats the ground,
I dream of happy things;
Mostly Him,
Which makes me want to hold on,
So, so tight, as though
He’d float away up into the sky,
Pull up towards the orange chalk harvest moon,
And turn to dust.
Makes me want to hold on
Hold on.
Hold on.
And never let Him go.