Kill me for a lack of better cliches.

One rose and half of a candy heart.
One quitter, one believer.
The end of a battery, the security savior.
Seas of tearful water.
Wants and needs colliding.
A drive because we had to, but was later needed.
A false scare of mountain lions,
The exhange of thank you’s.
A realization that not a single flower, let alone a rose, stood along that street,
Except for the spot where we shut the engine off,
Battled,
Then became winners because of your fight, your want.
A definite lack of perfection.

We sat there as children, with one side collapsing.
A belief, or lack of one, that I cannot succeed just yet.
I may not be ready.
But I saw in your words, your fight, your truth,
How something great can become magic.

Thank you, my dear, for giving up a fight when all there was inside of me was quit.
I did not think that I was ready.
You deserved not a single tear, let alone a scare, a frown.

You will grow up with me, hand in hand, and we will take on this scary world together.