Work Text:
He sang a song to me
that echoed things I didn't know,
and spoke of sensations
which I could not even name.
My words were inconsequential
as his tears dried on my shoulder,
but it did not matter:
my ignorance and stupidity.
He held me like an object,
soft and warm.
I was the comfort he had
in the night,
but I held him like a charm
to make me strong,
Strong enough to be
strong for him as well as me.
I see his eyelashes fanned
against the pallor of his cheeks
and the drip-dry lines that
start at corners and follow contours.
Who am I to be his comfort?
Who is Silence to be his voice?
Just a friend who's always there
...for him to run to.
I slip into his bed
when I know he needs me,
but he hardly ever asks,
so maybe he knows.
Knows how it feels
to be able to give him comfort
before he asks or can even
realize his state.
I'm fine if he takes
my presence for granted,
because I'm learning to take him
for granted, too.
Maybe someday he won't need anyone,
let alone me.
Some day, I hope to be more than
a support for my pillar of strength