At my worst, you taught me
how to feel again,
brought me places I thought
had already ceased to exist,
now I miss them.
I miss them all the time.

Without my compass, my guide
all I have are these thoughts.
Eyes aimlessly searching for trails
in undergrown forests,
hopelessly lost.

You could have left me
the way you found me:

a screen door that only knows how to open,
a playground swing causing accidents,
a walking precaution,
a sink hole trying to grow a heart,
something inherently broken,
something with missing parts.

But, you didn't.

You mended the hinges,
you took down the warning signs,
grew an entire meadow of wildflowers—
you patched me up with your love.

My cup is brimming,
and I no longer know
where else to pour.