"when someone asks me what's wrong, my instant reaction is to lie and say everything is fine, despite how crap i really feel"

My hands are afraid of being held
Though they are cold
And slightly frostbitten
They'd rather be alone

Achingly
The tips of my indigo fingers
Yern for your return,
For the stregnth of your palms
But my hands

My hands are afraid
Of your third degree
They would rather be
Alone

Understanding.
Safety.
Comfort.
Home.
I sleep better when you're here.
I feel better when you're touching me.
Even just a brush against your leg or your back behind me as I roll over.
You are what I crave the second anything is wrong
and the second anything is right.
You are a comfort I didn't think it possible to have.
I don't know what I give you that keeps you here, but I'm glad of it.
Please stay.