I want you to be the knock at my door and when you walk in, hold me in your arms so I can crumble.
You will tell me that everything is going to be okay (eventually) even if right now it doesn’t feel okay, and you will wipe the tears from my red, ravaged eyes and hold me closer still.
You will not comment on how I smell or the state of my hair; in your arms, I will soften, until the weight of me settles into the trust of your comfort.
You will tell me to get on the couch, and even though it’s a thousand degrees, you will pull the comforter you bought for me a long time ago from the chest that traveled over oceans to get here and I will wrap myself up and feel held by something bigger.
You will fuss around the tiny kitchen of this tiny apartment that you will never see, remarking on how cute it is, as you make me something that only you could; it will be the right thing for this moment and I will want to say thank you a hundred different ways, but the words will be stuck in my throat and instead, more tears will fall, and I will know by your presence that i am not alone or too weird or a freak or a failure; and even though I will have a hard time accepting the truth is not the one I tell myself, I will believe you, because you gave birth to me and knew me like no other.
When I wake up from a nap that resets my pulse, you will tell me who you were and what you were afraid of and the secret to making love last and you will tell me what it’s like to grow a life inside your body, and you will let allthethings fall from your lips and I will collect them, one by one, like little nuggets of gold, your wisdom, and I will stash them safely away, into the corners of my heart for a day darker than this one.