My heart feels warmer when you are around. Not quite a fire, more like the gentle warmth of the spring sun melting into my skin. pleasant and peaceful, I close my lids and could believe for a moment, there is no enmity in the world.
Your movements are strange; fluttering hands and slow, nearly stomping strides. And sometimes, you sprint in parking lots. It's dire to get somewhere! But you usually get about six feet then stop.
Your presence is mighty.
So mighty that many times I can Know your feelings when words fail you. But your words are not always easy to read. When you're in a closet, a scream only tells me where you are, not how to get to you.
Small children, tucked in beds a bunk. The clouds' tears would patter on the windows and angrily bang pots and pans. But the clouds did not wake me. I woke to the feeling of small, cold hands and feet, wriggling their way under my blanket in the top bunk. I'd meet the gaze of little tear filled eyes, then watch them close waiting for them to dream again.
You have my blood, my eyes, my promise to be present. And without doubt, you lovingly robbed my heart. Any stranger could see you smile, and hear you chuckle, and you would steal theirs too. No, they would give it to you. How could you not give your heart to the source of its warmth.