I fear being forgotten. Not my face or my gestures, not my words, and not even my smile, but me ... that tiny seed of me you've gotten to know and like.
I fear being shut out. Lost in your pain, so busy painting it over, overcome by the guilt that you dared to want to live.
I use words, but words are not enough, words cannot embrace or caress; they can only fail you, a thousand paper cuts when you fiddle too long with the concepts.
I promised patience, but that doesn't mean I'll turn my back and leave you alone, that doesn't mean I'll just wait until you come around.
And I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your anguish, I cannot selfishly tell you how lucky I feel that you hurt, that I get to be the one to hug you and tell you, it's going to be all right, baby, and I'll do my best to make it all right, sweetheart. I cannot tell you, but that is why I'll stay.
Show me your scars, let me be your band-aid.
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