Never you

Bubbles, bubbles from my lips as I let the water enter me. 

You know he knows me differently than you know me? 

You know how he can find me?  How he knows certain things; how he knows when to mention the words that I'm seeking...Somewhere, somehow, reaching out to hold my hand, to fill in those blanks.  He hears me, through stars calling, through the field.  He can find me giggling, blackberries in hand, metal on standby, hawk watching.  Discover here, fear there.  Halo, tiara, gloss all the same.  Bridges to honey and milk - putting up a show.  Girl for sale and never was there a buyer.  Funny how he denies me; always denying me wishes and demands.  He just forgot what was right, which way I was.  He stays up all night and I sleep, knowing I can't let him go, chasing his ghost.  Crystalline vision of this girl perfected, he watches over, watching well.  He plays with keys and I steal his drink.  And I'd play.  All along, I'd play.  He likes my show.  It's me.  And now he knows all too well, heart wet.  Visual display of emotion - surprising me - what he knows.  But it's just me.  Just the me he knows.

But he isn't you. 

You know he knows me differently than you know me? 

He sees me in his dreams and he creates his world around them.  He finds the tortoise and the gold in the daytime.  The birds do sing here.  He smiles in the shadows. He lets me break, there in his hands, and he puts me back together without fail, without question.  He finds the lines in me and follows them there and traces them back to me.  He finds me carbon-sided, imperfections abound, bloodied feet.  Through soft eyes he sees me, through the raging tempest and buildings that close him off.  He takes his weapons to me, the callouses and razor sharpened edges and I fight like hell.  He becomes that vision of light in my darkness that I swallow.  Secrets that he knows, forbidden.  I subtly give in.  He stitches my tears and repairs my holes, he washes away my filth and combs my damp hair.  He fixes me with precision, in every way possible, working to find my perfection, when only truly working to find me.  And it's me, the me that he knows.  

But he isn't you. 

She knows him better than you could ever imagine.