This Is Who You Are To Me

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Who are you?

You are a boy becoming a man. Full cheeks blend into your chiseled jaw and boyish charm taints your proud swagger.

A slash of blue under a black coat brings memories from long, long ago. That might still be your father’s tie, but you carry it so well; you’ve made it your own.

Who are you?

You can’t answer that question yourself. You shrug me off every time I ask you and yet I can tell you’re desperately trying to answer it yourself.

You are your bone white fingers, harbingers of glory. You are the stripe of stubble you always forget to erase. You- you are your warm brown eyes, your lips that can move even in a photograph.

Who are you?

Two syllables barely do you justice. Even if you stagger under the weight of the world, you have angel wings you still cannot see.

One day, after I am long gone and my name turns to ashes on your tongue, you will take wing and fly, fly, fly.

Who are you?

I could not answer that question six months ago. But now, the four words slip out so easily.

You are my everything.