a familiar routine

I’m not a book

not eloquent or poised to amaze.

I want you to see me

though

and hold me in a lap on snowflake days.

I’m starting to realize

maybe I don’t know what love is

and maybe that’s perfectly okay.

I may be hard and cold

but at least I cry at movies

and manage to hold on

even when I tear my stitches.

That ought to count for something,

There’s more than one of you

then just me.

Tomorrow

who knows.