I need you.
In the reassurance
of all the secrets I couldn’t tell
and in the ones I did.

I need you in the Saturday morning cartoons.
I need a shoulder brush
a hand to hold
a smile and a wave.

I need you to be okay
with the tears and the fears
and the gossip spilled over sandwhiches
or the compliments spread across a makeup counter.

I need you
in the passenger seat of my car
in the booth across from me
and in the notifications bar

waiting with a joke.