No Longer a Parasite…?

“I’m here.”

She’s often on the receiving end of those words.
Hyperventilating and sobbing.
Vacant and unaware.
Flighty and shaking.
Deflated and listless.

“Babe, it’s okay.”

She’s often on the receiving end of those words.
Cracking.
Falling apart.
Shattering.
Scrambling.
Snapping.
Arguing.

“Thank you.”

She’s often the one saying those words.
Finally calm.
Breathing evenly.
Cognisant, lucid.
Loosely pieced back together again.

“For what?”

He’s often the one asking this question.
Confused.
Why was he being thanked?

“For being there.”

She was often the one saying those words.
He was there.
He put up with her.
He cradled the shards.
He wiped away the tears.
He tried to help her piece herself back together.
He tried to help her keep herself together.
He was always there.

“Babe, stay with me. I’m here. It’s okay. Ik hou zielsveel van jou, schat.”

For once…,
she was not on the receiving end of those words.
For once…,
she was trying to keep him there with her,
away from the deepest recesses of his mind,
wherever he was going.
Not alone.
Never would be again.

With a golden poteto,
his inked beauty,
a fin of three decades,
and a dash of salt,
he came back.
And he stayed.

“Thank you for being there.:

“I always will be. I love you.”

She now understood why.
Confused.
Of course she was there.

And she helped.
They all did.
Apparently, she always helped.
She kept him sane—
by being insane.

She was a parasite.

Or…maybe not?

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Author: Elendarin

Student pursuing a degree in psychology with a concentration in clinical psych. I enjoy writing, watching baseball, foreign languages, and being a massive nerd.

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