five minutes of dreams and i'm resting my head in your lap on the couch. the one that i burned with a hairdryer when it was first new, sorry. you're reading me that scary story about the witch with twigs for hair and a cave for a home who sold marmalade. or maybe you're explaining shakespeare to me. i knew it, i was free, i was there.
i liked the way you impulsively painted the bathroom with periwinkle stripes. the way you crush your christmas candy cane and eat its crumbs with a spoon out of a bowl. the way you seem to consistently finish the last piece of other people's puzzles, despite angering them, you find it funny, and so do i. not to mention the passion with which you built my history project, quilt me beautiful warmth, and paint my life with such scenery.
and i especially love the contrast between you telling me if anyone ever hurt me, to punch them, yet you watch almost every television show with tissues in hand to wipe clean your crying eyes. there is such beauty in your range of emotions, and how they are subtle and sound when i need someone strong, yet the most mundane things can create such feeling in you. there is such beauty in your ability to let the world fully take hold of you, and how you can find yourself in any story.
there is such beauty in how you're so delicate, but so tough, and i love you.