the love of my life is absolutely perfect,

yet just a little jealous of a teddy bear:
we hug the same way, and he’s so much better,

just be with him

even though it can’t happen now.
he always says how i’m perfect,

even if i know he's always just

echoing my thoughts about him.

how much he wants to sit, talk, laugh,
cuddle,
love, live.

pulling me closer, never letting me go,

he took away the steel blanket that my demons
had shrouded me with,

refuses to let me cry, shake with fear,

or fade into my own random obscurity.