I turn into the sunlight, warm and glaringly bright, longing to feel your hand on my cheek brushing the hair out of my face. Right after you say something crazy and mean because you are the only person who can say things like that and I still love you. Cutting me to the quick, knowing my moves before I can conceive of them but allowing me to think I am the master of invention. Never criticizing my adventures, always bragging about my bravery but wistfully wishing I was choosing to be closer -like in the neighborhood. The neighborhood I live in is the one you built without knowing anything about architecture or design. You made me out of thin air inside your stomach and I can only wonder how perplexing it all was. Making people is the easiest thing but raising them to be adults is so complex because it happens whether you want it to or not. Time moves on even if you don’t get out of bed, brush your teeth or get dressed. Embarrassingly, achingly, longingly desperate for your touch that would assure me that it’s okay to get out of bed, brush my teeth and get dressed. Impenetrable connection that even death can not change.