I just want to sit. I just want to hold your hands. I want to lovingly caress your features with a gentle gaze given only to you in times of quiet. In the hush of the morning when we can hear the petals of flowers opening and the soft noise of crisp grass being blown by an easy-rolling breeze. So hold my unsteady hands. Soon, they will no longer shake. Soon, they will make you whole. Soon, they will turn into arms that will hold you.
I want to believe there is something left for me in your desolate wasteland. Inside your chest, I plan to plant a flower. A garden. A whole meadow. I will remove the weeds. I will aid and tend to your every need. I will water you. But I will never damage your flowers. I will never be that fire that rips you apart. For you, I live. For you, I will. For you, I am.