I don't need anyone. Its just me, myself, and I.
I do my chores, and go to work. But he thinks its not just I.
He comes home to help, such a nice boy. You always asks me, "is your husband nearby?"
I tell him, "yes he's just down the street." He says, "oh, can we someday meet?"
I shake my head no, "its just me, myself, and I." He tilts his head, "then how is he nearby?"
"He's not nearby, like a friend, he's in my heart, trying to hold my hand."
His face gets soft, and he takes my hand. "I'll be your friend, to hold your hand."
I'll remember that boy, forever and ever. For he taught me, that age doesn't matter.
Anyone can be kind and caring. Just as that boy. Look to the heart, there its found.
Not diamonds, nor rubies. Just a small sound. Growing and growing.
That little beating grows and grows, until all can see, what it holds.
I remember the day he held my hand. Mine tiny and fragile in his.
I remember him even today, when I lie on my deathbed. His hand in mine.
He was a friend. It changed from me, myself, and I, to me and him, my best friend.
