My fear, I think, is you’ll come home a man.
The boy, I can resist, if he returns.
But should you reappear with strength of hand,
Of mind, of jaw, of heart, of patience learned…
If I should find you changed for better still,
The master of your flaws, a truer friend.
It wouldn’t be a matter of my will—
It wouldn’t matter, really, in the end.
You see, I should be lost, and yours again.
And this is something I cannot ignore,
(As I’ve been known to do with hurt or pain).
I’ve loved you for so long, so much, before.
The one you love the first you love the most.
You can’t forget, you try, and still—you’re toast.