You are the breath of fresh air that I needed to pull me from drowning.
And the way you touch around the curves of my face, shoulders, outlining every finger like a sculptor finishing his newest master piece. I am left delicate, poised, until I next feel your fingertips smooth out the crevices in my skin and chisel away at my imperfections. You make me real. Each day you carve me out of stone with your kind words, to which I’ve grown very unused to. You make me feel alive.
Every time my heart races in panic or fear, I scream out your name to the darkest depths of my mind, only to see the radiance of your presence give light to what holds me in my prison. You make me feel safe.
You make me feel like the best adventure yet to explore in which we only dream of, in the way that traders dream of discovering the most precious creation of spice in the autumn.
You made me.
You make me.
You make me, me.