Through all my painful wounds,
and lonely tears,
I raise my head from my hands,
to see your face appear,
right out of midair.
Whenever I seem to stumble,
or fall in life,
you're always right there,
holding out your hand.
Your voice caresses my soul,
it mends these broken wings of mine,
so I can fly once again.
Your arms shield me from the dangers,
from the pain I long to escape from.
When you call me,
the butterflies get a little bit bigger,
and a little more anxious to come out.
For when you laugh or make a joke,
my eyes become a little brighter.
But when we have nothing to say,
I'm content with listening
to your breathing every day.
Everything you do is either magical,
beautiful, precious, or kind.
What did I have to do,
to have met you in this lifetime?