He tells me he's moved on, that she's in the past,
But still flinches when a gentle hand moves too fast.
Seeing the anxiety create tidal waves in his ocean eyes,
Causes a seething anger so deep that I can't even describe.
"1001 Ways I'd **** That *****" becomes our bedtime story,
and "Baby we can't be together if you're in jail" the sequel.
((That's what they have conjugal visits for, right?))
I can see he's used to having crazy in his life, just not this kind.
I see him, and I envision the things I never could before;
I see that white picket fence within reach for the first time.
I see kids, a combination of his goofiness and my stubbornness.
I see happiness, and for the first time the future doesn't terrify me.
I used to tell him I was afraid to go to sleep,
In fear that he'd be gone when I wake.
And each night I'd tell him of my deepest scars,
As a way to make the hurt come sooner rather than later
When he did eventually leave.
But he never did.
He continued to wake me up with that groggy smile of his,
Each and every morning.
He made me see the value in the warmth of the sun;
The importance of staying alive.
He put value in me, without even knowing he did it.
He gave me a reason to smile everyday,
And frankly, he's the reason I still breathe.
((No pressure, love.))
He could tell I was used to crazy, just not this kind.
Attempting a kind of happy poem for once, I told him I don't write anymore and I only write when it's bad.... but my fingers have been begging for the keys lately.
