In between your apologies, I wish there were more beautiful words. See, I know about the bad nights and the nail-biting, heart-numbing sadness, but I also know about the kissing. I know about the caring. I know about the open hands and soft words, and I’m trying to turn this into something good.
I wish I had more to say, words that would suck the sadness from your bones on the nights when your silence is a brick cell that keeps you caged and screaming. I have kept my hands soft and my word softer, to talk you down from the kitchen knives and razor blades, but I cannot make you thirst for life. You are so beautiful, salmon tongue and ivory teeth, that I cannot understand the nights you stain your skin with stars to keep the scars from coming out with the full moon. You are, after all, the thing that makes me hungry for daylight, bones sewn together long enough to reach me before the collapse. You are, after all, a shelter from the splintered mess of hard world and angry hands. The nights turn bad when I know your depression is sharpening your edges and dimming the moon – the nights turn bad when the clocks stop and you begin your countdown.
I know I am not your cure. But I am here – I will kiss you until morning comes."