You’ve come to my rescue many a time.
But not in the way you might think.
Yes, you do help me in the typical way.
Pulling me up before I sink.
But it’s all the small things you do for me.
The accidental things, that only I see.
That really mean the most to me.
Kind gestures with no intent or agenda.
It’s just who you are, my defender.
You see, the sweet things that you do and say.
They rescue me every day.
I know, dear. There is low oxygen in a hamster ball, but you're told: "keep running! Keep running!" and you're like, "What the hell, Defender of Whatever, don't you know I need a break? It's getting really hot, but my heart is cold; I'm sleepless, but restless; my thoughts are stale, and my everything is irrelevant!" and the Defender of Whatever is all: "Mercy is for cowards! And, you, you're no coward, you're an American!" and then you respond, ever defiantly: "Where I exist has nothing do to with why I exist." The Defender of Whatever explodes…
— The End —