How many times have I thought about it all? How many mornings have I rolled over in bed and into your arms? When you’re not there, Mein has a hard time filling the place on the mattress you’re supposed to be laying in.
You always come home, though. You bring flowers and candy and sometimes new scars... but you always come home. You put me back together. You showed me where the broken pieces were supposed to go. How long has it been since I had a nightmare? How many weeks since the last time you sat up with me and we listened to the rain in the valley?
You kissed my burned hands as the sun came up. I watched your lips on my knuckles and pretended to know what it felt like. I remember the smell of fog and wet soil; flowers in the planter out front that have just begun to droop for the winter, water twinkling on dewy petals like too many stars. You still do that. I know you’d take the scars away if you could.
I live for days when I wake up before you do. I listen to the sound of your heart beating in your chest, bundled in clean sheets and Mein. Do you know that you hold me so close when you’re asleep? I wouldn’t trade it for anything. You call me your angel. A year ago, I would have hated that word, but now...
I want to be every bit as perfect as you think I am.