There's something to be said in the way you gently squeeze my hand when I'm upset.
Even when I may not know why.
Or how you hold my gaze.
You try to find my ****** jokes funny,
even if you're unable to hide just how bad they are.

You're a religion,
a dogma,
a deity that I completely, utterly worship.

No you don't always take the pain away,
nor do you magically make it all okay.
But you make it all bearable;
you've become the reason to try.

And like Gatsby and the green light,
wishing, hoping for Daisy to notice,
I hold out a green light to you.

Not only so you can see me,
but it is a reminder, a testament,
of how I wholly, entirely and unconditionally adore you.