What you are to me is far too cliche to say in this medium. So I won't say what you are. I'll say what you aren't.

You aren't my father,
You don't call me the things I deserve to be called when I'm acting like the things I deserve to be called.
You aren't arrogant.
You don't hold my past misdeeds against me.
You haven't left.
You aren't aware of your worth.
You are not a coward.
You can't stay mad at me.
You aren't ordinary.

Sometimes it's the bits we don't say. The unspoken words in between the ones we say with our voice. Sometimes it's oir actions that give us a voice.

A boy that's good for your body
And better for your head
That's who I dreampt of
As I squirmed in my bed.

Tingling limbs
All fire and heat.
Making it hard to stay in my seat.

A boy with a soft body for cuddling
And a strong will for a healthy mind.
But above all, please let him be kind.

sometimes you ruin me.
you make me feel second rate, but you say i'm priority.
I want to nurture you back to health. I want to make a difference in the way you feel.
maybe that's selfish,
...yeah probably.
but sometimes sadness is selfish too.
We're victims to ourselves.
sometimes I don't want to feel better,
sometimes I need to feel blue -
and maybe so do you.
I will try to understand
even though there are things I never will.
like why it takes me feeling worse for you to feel better.
or why spicy pastrami can cheer you up more than I can.
or how oblivious we can be to the pain we subject each other to.
any effort I make is futile.
you undermind my attempts.
shame on me,
I don't learn
not to fix
broken things.

I am completely sober.
...I'm not sure if that's a good or a bad thing.
I want to stay in,
and take off all my clothes.
I want to go out,
and get all dolled up.
I want to be seen
...by no one.
I want to know...
what I want.

tell me something,
like how it feels when we finally kiss after a huge fight.
how the cold wind rushes past cheeks flushed red from  the warmth of liquor.
we said so many things when we were upset.
I barely remember why.
I do remember the smooth brush of your stubble
as you'd nuzzle
against me.
And making love in the kitchen,
the smell of homemade tomato sauce still lingering.
Pounds upon pounds in my pockets after a night out on the town.
drinking cider,
drinking red stripe,
drinking wine til I cry.

All those things we said
when we stayed in bed.
Exchange a glance.
have a tumble til our bellies rumble.

This is a nonfictional romance.