Because I'm supposed to get lost and steer off track, and so are you. And it's supposed to be difficult. And when I forget who I am and who we are and were, you won't. Because you don't forget. But the familiarity of the marks on your face hold me. Because I know every inch of who you are and who you want to be. Because I can recount the stories of your battlewounds, the ones I can see and the ones I just know. Because I made some. Because I would throw myself upon you as armor to the unprotected soldier, but you'd need to feel the sting of the thorns to love the rose. That you loved every thorn and petal because it was yours. Because I am yours.