I know at night
Searching for your warmth,
You're always in arms reach,
but it feels so far.
You're an eternity away,
yet under the same sheet.
I simply roll closer,
Arms searching for skin.
Though it is dark,
Your silhouette is clear.
Briefly I hesitate,
Am I a comfort to you,
As you have become to me?
My arms close the gap.
Your skin it too warm,
My hands are too cold.
You sigh softly, content.
Our legs instinctively intertwine.
Then your hand closes around mine.
When did this become familiar?
Before I can really think,
I'm comforted by your touch.
Your breathing, so steady,
Matched by your heartbeat.
Then, without my consent,
Without my conscious present,
I begin dreaming.

I cannot make you understand,
I know you won't make me try.
Please do not give me your pity,
Even if I do start to cry.
These bitter memories have molded me,
Whether for better or for worse.
I know I am a handful,
I am a blessing and a curse.
I will never force you to stay,
but if I ask, please don't go,
If during rain, wind, sunshine,
or even falling snow.
Someday I will bare it all to you,
when the time is truly right.
I don't expect you to understand,
but I hope you stay through the night.

And I am sick of phone calls
From people long left,
And of this anxiety,
Which I won't forget.
Cold sweats and shaking myself.
horridly awake,
Horridly aware of you;
A memory of the past.
Tearing me ever slowly,
ruining my mind.

But I will find some comfort,
In the future first.
******* in the cool stiff air,
My hands filled with tears.
Then I'll become a monster,
In ways I'm not proud.
This is who I've become.
All that I hated.
At last my heart relaxes,
Release to the bed.

He rolls over with a sigh,
Arms wrapping 'round me.
I can feel his heart beat slow.
Suddenly, I am home.

And so I've really ****** up,
Driven us too far apart.
I've been apologizing for days,
And now I can't even sleep.
Please come home,
Please come back to me.

About people being evil at least.
I've met plenty of people
Who care nothing but of themselves.
But I've never met a good person
Who hadn't been through hell.

Though it now smells like me.
Here I don't have a "side",
Though I am partial to the window.
By the window I get all the best,
the view of the world,
the dim city street,
the unpredictable, yet lovely, weather,
Yet also the view of you,
Quiet, and at your most vulnerable,
Appearing to be almost shy in slumber.
Kiss your shoulder, rolling away,
Now viewing the other half of my world.
Though it now smells like me,
This is not my bed.

And so it is,
you see them at their most vulnerable,
something about it,
that sweet child-like sensitivity,
something odd,
to see someone's true soul,
something small,
but then it grows,
and grows,
and grows,
and that is love.