solace

There are nights when all I want is to be held, 

for someone to stroke my tangled hair 

and listen to my gibberish words

or my labored breathing.

I want to be asked if the splinter is gone 

or how big it is now. 

To be asked not just once. 

I want to be called, 

not by my stoic name, 

but by something that holds reassurance

that I am seen.

—I want to be seen.

I want to be held. 

like how the sky collects all the stars, and there it remains 24/7

like how my shelves contain all my books, despite its tight spaces

and its barely attached screw. 

like how my grid holds the photos of people I care about 

despite the cobwebs and setting dust. 

I want to be held 

as if I am fragile 

—even if I am far from being one. 

To be held so dearly.

To have some solace 

in moments when I never knew I needed one, 

especially, in moments when I want warmth

—I'm already lukewarm.

I want to be held, just sometimes, 

so that I'll know, 

that it's not just me. 

here. 

I need to be held

so that I wouldn't think,

not anymore,

that all i can hold on to is myself.