Who are you, but a stranger who cares.
Who am I, but a brown folder with a face.
Do you care when you open me up and expose my innards?
Do you realise how hard it is to replace my stuffings back where they belong when our hour draws to an end?
Do you see the tears I hold back when you say goodbye?
Because so often I think I will never see you again, that I will never feel safe again. And the warmth of your words so recently felt makes it so much harder to go back into the icy blizzard that is my life.