A Shelter.

I vaguely remember the warmth and comfort inside that solid place. My mind digs extremely deep for such details. If only I could run back in time and enjoy it for what it was. I had no idea it'd be stripped from my life shortly after. I regret I ever let go when I was wrapped inside. Just to be back in that shelter in the middle of everything is now simply a dream. I should have locked myself in and misplaced the key. But here I am, standing in the rain.

I wasn't blind when the pushing began. In fact, I wasn't blind throughout the process of loving you. When you were silent, I was pondering you. I was determined to figure all of this out and write out every little detail. But then I realized there wasn't much to figure out. Because this whole time you only forgot how to be the shelter that you were meant to be. You disbelieved what I saw plainly. You gave yourself no credit for what you did beautifully. The man you were meant to be was doubted by his very self. But I wasted no time doubting such a thing.

Although the feeling is such a blur, I know I'll remember it when it comes back. Somewhere deep in my mind I've memorized the scratches on the wall inside. I know the texture, I know the temperature; if there's one thing I cannot subconsciously forget, it's your comfort. When that day comes that you realize how truly strong you are, I pray you have open arms. And into your reach I will fall and into my arms you will stay. There are no set of arms I would rather trust myself in than yours.

(But I would really hate it if you hugged me.)