Sometimes I feel like nothing's good at all, and I come crashing into your arms,
Asking, "Why? When? How? Please?"
And it's funny that you still catch me then,
In that moment where I am convinced that you are not acting for me,
And I even dare to believe you're fighting against me.
I like that it makes no difference to you whether I'm thanking you profusely or begging for contentment,
You're just glad I'm there.
In your arms.
Sometimes I feel like nothing's good at all,
But you are. You are good. Only you.
