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“there are things he holds close, in the awake, in the lucid, things he feels, but he fears how they might fall out so helpless, so unarmed, so defenseless… and god, how those walls can make me question. but then he dreams with an open chest, and he tells me of what he’s sure of, and that i can let my head rest, ‘cause this isn’t a small love, and that most times it feels like too much love, and so sometimes… he’s just afraid. so my fears… they just fall quiet with the way he speaks to me in his sleep. he may have a hardened chest in the wake light, but there are flowers in the moonlight, and when his fears fall quiet… there are all these things he feels when his defenses are down.” — butterflies rising
there are
things he holds
close, in the awake,
in the lucid,
things he feels, but he fears
how they might fall out so helpless,
so unarmed, so defenseless…
and god, how those walls
can make me question.
but then he dreams with an open chest,
and he tells me of what he’s sure of,
and that i can let my head rest,
‘cause this isn’t a small love,
and that most times it feels like too much love,
and so sometimes… he’s just afraid.
so my fears… they just fall quiet
with the way he speaks to me
in his sleep.
he may have a
hardened chest in the wake light,
but there are flowers in the moonlight,
and when his fears fall quiet…
there are all these things he feels
when his defenses are down.