He was never one to speak his feelings,
always a stony façade,
Never frequent "I miss you's",
but rather, "Please don't be late."

But once in a while, there are cracks in his armor,
an off-guard laugh or a secret smile,
his eyes would shine as he thinned his lips,
I'm always hoping he'd laugh for a while.

He has funny ways of showing me he cares,
like always making sure I'm never cold,
I quite like his shy, boarded up exterior,
you take what you get in this world.

"Darling," I'd whisper, as he held onto my hand,
and his consciousness drifted into night,
"It's okay that your 'Text me when you get home's"
look like 'I love you's" when I hold it to the light.