Comfort

I’ve been to war, I’ve seen a lot

I’m intimately familiar, with what comfort is not.

I gave up looking, for a period of time.

Even came to the conclusion, comfort was no longer mine.

And PTSD is a terrible beast,

It thrives on pain and aggression, it likes comfort the least.

I’ve wasted years paranoid, living in an angry haze.

I’ve told everyone to leave me, this isn’t a “phase”.

Through all of this darkness, anger and fear.

She was always there, year after year.

She is my light, always finding a way through.

As a moth to the flame, I always find my way to.

My comfort was there, even if I couldn’t see.

Through years of abuse, my comfort still believed in me.

She knew I’d be back, someday I would turn.

Because it’s human nature, it’s comfort we yearn.

She pushed me to treatment, even though I said “no!”

She stood with me through thick and thin, she knew someday I’d grow.

My wife is my comfort, she battles the PTSD.

I now come to her, when it’s too much for me.

She empathizes with the evil that’s been haunting me.

She knows it better than anyone, she’s the only one who sees.

She sees that I’ve been triggered, before I even know.

She brings me to safety, calms and comforts, then we go.

With her I am alive again, my rock and comfort to the end.

She is more than just my wife you see, she’s also my best friend.