You represent a grasping to me. A place, not a soul, I turn to when my own souls feels too mortal. I come to you uncertain. Hoping, just this once, you will make me whole. I leave with scraps of self-respect. A lesser-ness of me hanging, dangling from my bones. You know this. You love me, yet you do not turn away.
For me, sell pencils
For me, protect our small space
For me, be present