Stood there in a daze as I tell you to come on over, you open the window and stick your head out wondering whether or not it would kill you if you were to throw yourself onto the pavement below. It looks too close to the ground though, and what good would broken bones do when it’s non-existence you seek above all else? You look to the trees, but they turn the other way. You look to the sky but all it does is rain, and that says it all. What’s the point of living? You cry this time and time again, but all I can think about is how beautiful you are when your world is falling apart. There’s no point to anything, I reply, and with this, I write down what you mean to me on a sheet of unlined paper and let it be known that I’ll only show it to you when you come lie on the bed and let me comb your hair. When you rest your belly on the mattress, I fetch the brush from your bag and begin sliding it over your troublesome head. Such a mess you are, but there’s fire in you, and it bleeds into my words and makes the world a better place. Is it cruel of me to use you in such a way? Perhaps, but out of your pain comes a thousand miracles, and that’s a sweet thing indeed. Rolling you onto your back, you clutch your tummy and ask for the hot water bottle. Maybe some chocolate, too. There are scratches on your arm, and I run my finger over each and every one of them. Next time, I say, you scratch me instead, okay? Waiting for a response, you give a little nod and a shy half-smile. Kissing you on the lips and getting to my feet, I make you give me the pinky promise, and when you wrap your little finger around mine, I go do what you ask of me.