Comfort (a bit of prose)

The world has been cruel to you. I only need that much to know why you cry this way. You come to me, afraid. Perhaps someday you'll know better.


When someone else decides to caress you in such a horribly familiar way, it won't upset you. You'll enjoy it, and then throw it away unless it's really worth something to you the next day. Things like this come once in a lifetime, after all. You won't cry this way again. I can't promise you the world, but I can promise you that. Learn. Now is the time for others to fear, and for you to trust.


They'll hold you so very close because you're so beautiful, and they'll be afraid that your gossamer dreams will become wings and carry you away, leaving love behind. They'll feel you in and out and up and down because they'll be so surprised how easily you bloom, day in and day out. Yet, the shadows in your smile will change, depending on the time of curiosity. They'll wonder what else it was about you that their dreams really held. They'll find something new every time because "everything" keeps growing once it becomes a label. That's all in a good way, as long as you can grow your own wings. Then, maybe you'll cry again, but can't you see what's beginning?


The horrible pleas you made may not come true, whether there was a shadow of doubt behind whatever you really wanted. Words fall flat all too often, after all. Yes. Someone telling every time of day will find half-formed words and sweet, soft phrases within you and you'll both feel young once more. You'll suddenly have two pieces of the same half instead of two halves of a whole, unless you figure out how to put a little something in between two halves so that they meet only every once in a while. It'll be more than enough, whether you want it all or not. Whatever you get, it'll last you every moment you need if you spend it wisely. Anything else you want can wait until it's someone else saving the ground below your feet.


We were never good with numbers and times, though. What's the job for two people working on figuring out half of one lifetime? Not that it matters. We'll know where to end and where to start. The rest will take care of itself. Here goes.


The pain comes only once, when you actually forget the other half of the words your mouth decided to invent on its own. Just like the waiting future, you only half-form the words because you know there's someone better to fill in the rest. Of course, half-formed futures and half-formed promises will all come along as you leave the door half-open. The thing is, the half-shares of joy will remain if you're careful enough to give just half of your heart. Congratulations, you'll never be whole. Chances are you'll keep trying until you lose part of the half you had, and the person who saves you will be very good at fractions of this sort.


Hopefully that will be enough for every mismatched memory to find a safe place when you decide to blow your mind away for the perfect night. Otherwise, it might be quite a laugh to watch them all run for cover, however they trip when they see the present. Whatever the present is to you, I'll do my best to grant you all of this while I still can. I'm a part of this whole wicked fairytale, after all. My words have been nothing less, nothing more prominent unless you really are the butterfly of my spring and you're going to fly away. Cruel, that I should see truth this way.

Perhaps it's better this way, but must it be this way? That's why I ask you to learn, and yet to trust, because I don't like the faith that I have in these words. I don't want this letter to end without me, before the words come alive and see their last serenade. I say this because I need you and I want to share this with you. Otherwise, this is a gift.