you,
I see an open wound
I see nowhere to go
your seafoam eyes
weighed down by bags;
does it hurt remembering?
Can you feel the tension?
It is palpable in the atmosphere.
Sitting in the artic blast of A/C
whipping back our hair,
your hands feel so cold
scraping back an errant
strand of dead hair from
my face.
You smile,
but it is weak, and strained.
I can feel you going under,
so i extend my hand
to help you through this.
I smile back,
and it is strong
enough to hold us both up.
And I see at long last,
as I slip out your car,
some color return to your cheeks
and yet still know
instinctively know
that there is more work to do
I hope you realize
that whatever it is
I'll hold on.