I think of her
running her hands over your hair and across your face
and it makes me sick.
Because I know I get frustrated with the way you want me
and it may seem I don't appreciate you
and I know I need to work on letting you have your space.
But she doesn't know you're self-conscious of your scars
or that touching them makes you squirm.
She's going to try to kiss you
and maybe you'll let her
but then she'll find out your lips are soft like clouds
and she'll never want to stop.
She's going to start growing weak when you speak
because every word has a meaning
and eventually she'll learn which smile is the one that means you've let go of the past
- if only for the moment.
She'll start to grow sad when you need time alone.
She doesn't know that painting's your whole life
and she won't understand.
She won't know that writing's the way you escape
when your mind is too narrowed on your past to focus on the future.
Because you won't tell her about Nigeria
or why you have to feel in control
or maybe you will, once you're sure she's the one.
But I guess if she makes you happy, I'm happy.
Because that's all I've ever wanted for you.
No wait - I'm not that selfless
because I still love you, too...