Sometimes I do not see it coming. Standing on top of the world, I am busy with my head in the clouds and my heart in your hands. It rushes over me, through me, inside of me. It turns me inside out, forcing me to wear my damage on the outside.
Only you can see them, those secret places where the tissue is worn thin, stretched over too many heartaches. Only you can touch them, tracing the roadmaps of yesterdays. Your fingers slip over the empty places, the torn and ragged holes left by forgotten pieces of me. Only you can heal them, your love building bridges over sunken hopes and rotten dreams.
Sometimes I forget where you end and I begin. Until I can see your bandaids on my tattered soul. And then, I am grateful.