A poem dedicated to someone awesome: 

 

Dreams were a gift to escape my constant fear. 

Enter some abstract world where I wasn't scared. 

 

My dreams couldn't claw at my mind with "what if this and what if that's." 

I could watch the sun breath its last breath, without fearing darkness. 

 

You lay beside my bare body, searching for a place to rest your fingers. 

I examined every bone, wiping an eyelash from your eye. 

 

Kissing my forehead, running those fingers down my cheeks, 

I sank my head deep into your side, only for a moment. 

 

Catching your eye was like catching fireflies when I was seven. 

Watching them glow was comfort; I hated opening that mason jar. 

 

You remind me of my childhood, not because your tempers like my fathers, 

before I was I was terrified of the hiccups, afraid of being alone. 

 

You are the hot fudge piled on top of every sundae, 

a red starburst in a sea of orange and yellows. 

 

The comfort a baby knows when sucking on its thumb. 

A playground when the swings are empty. 

 

Dreams: once a gift to escape constant fear. 

I wrap myself in cotton sheets, my head grazes the hair on your arm. 

 

I fight with my eyes like I did with my parents, 

when they called me home after hide-and-seek on a summer night. 

 

My hands reach for you one last time, 

our lips find their way through the shadows. 

 

I once was scared of being alive. 

 Now, without you, I'm scared to dream.