And I love you when I’m sober and aching for your touch.
And I love you when I’m drunk and out of my self made funk.
And I love you when I’m swirling my hair on the shower wall and even the nights when my knees shake and I’m ready to fall.
And I could list the ways I love you until there’s no more air and I will love you as you push back my hair.
And I was made to love you, oh how I’m ******* sure.
I was made to love you even though you now love her.

I once woke up in the middle of the night and saw the silhouette of your side from the light of your television.

I smiled and imagined driving a car over the curve of your hip into the dip of your side.

I imagined all the hands that held onto your back that didn’t appreciate the way it carried you when you wanted to stop trying.  

I wondered if the next girl would appreciate these tiny things about you.

I wondered if she'd watch you nod while a cigarette hung loose from your lips as you drove.

I wondered if she’d watch you drive with your knees, carefully trying to  drink your third cup of black hot coffee.

I wonder if she’d care that the demons that slept behind those blue eyes were whispering again or if you had even told her of how they tormented you.

I wondered if her skin would sear as you moved her hair from her face.

I wondered if she could make you blush how I have.

I wondered if you would let her in deeper than I was allowed.

I wondered if you had told her of the nights I held your face while you cried.

I wondered if you could teach her how to love you as hard as I tried.

I wonder if you make her feel like home?

His legs are hairless.
He's the strongest man I know.
Inside his mind he's 18 again, trapped in a constant battle against a now aged enemy.
He's a father, grandfather even.
He sits with his back to the exit, making sure he can protect us.
He is haunted but proud.
He came home on ships full of broken toy soldiers, wound tight and released into an unknown land.
They returned him in less than pristine conditions, cracked and frayed from a war they did not ask for.
His fears and dark thoughts settle in the lines in his face and on the thick skin on his fingertips.
Pill after pill, meeting after meeting, he is tired.
He wants to wash away the things he's seen that he cannot repeat out loud to us.
"He stirs in his sleep." She says.
Trouble and reoccurring demons fighting battles behind his restless eyelids.
He fought for my future.
He fought for my freedoms.
He is my troubled soldier.