he heals me.

I asked for a hand, when I'm sad. He gave me an embrace and a kiss to the cheek. Cried for a minute to feel or express. He gave me hours with eyes only on me. Begged for warmth and a reminder. He gave me a home so warm, a place only he goes. I wanna cry, but he shushed me and said once again, "pretty girls don't cry" when I'm wounded and life is ugly, he heals me and calls me pretty. and just like that, everything is pretty again. He tells me something close, sings me lullabies, more like his laughs but a melody even I can't help share a tear for. Those hands, gosh I feel so safe in them. An empty bottle, but he takes the pain. He heals me, deep down he breaks. I see it too, the pained smiles his hands shaking as he wraps them around me. Even though, he heals me. I cried one night, he was too good to be true. I fear I'd wake up to find him gone. I could die a happy girl, living this dream. If he ever says his last goodbyes, I'm sure I'll die a little bit inside. Because he heals, he heals me. If he loves me, he can't leave me. He takes my body, he takes my heart. All I want is, and all i need is. To find somebody, like him. wake up, he doesn't exist. You're on your bedroom floor, crying a dream. -keren