How We Are Opposite

 

You wake up early but you let me sleep in, 

even if it means missing dawn patrol again.

 

Sometimes I think you lose your keys on purpose, 

because you know I'd know where to find them.

 

I can never sit down until the last dish is washed. 

You use a new cup for water even if we could share a glass.

 

You scold the dogs, I spoil them. 

Yet you clean up after them so I don't have to.

 

It takes you five minutes to be ready to surf, 

the same time it takes me to put one contact lens on.

 

You're a thinker and a tinkerer,

I overwhelm myself with emotions.

 

You say you're not good at comforting people 

because no one taught you how, and yet I've never met 

anyone with a bigger heart than you. I would know, 

you keep my dreams in there.

 

You carry loss like it was a trophy, 

and I shine it so it could become another story: 

not one of loss, but of light.

 

I know you won't touch a book 

unless it was a manual of making things work. 

So I write to you so you have something nice to read, 

and maybe you'd see why words aren't as flimsy as you think.

 

These are words known to stir up warmth, 

so put your hands over your heart like you would over a fire.

 

This is how I learned to survive

the cold days of loss.

 

I am writing to you so you may find words useful. 

Here, I am giving you a key that you won't lose, 

to open all the doors in your life.