Love is sitting in a waiting room…

Love is sitting in a waiting room.

Love is Benaim's voice in my ear and
my mother's arms swearing they've never held me before,
and by God: I know it's true.

Love is my tear streaked face matching hers and for once honestly smiling at the man I've been talking to for the past month.

Love is the world lifting from my lungs before I've purged myself in that one room.

Love is wanting my mother to go on as she grasps at his attention sounding like he steers the vessel she's been needing stranded in the middle of the sea.

Love is watching her reach out to me and knowing I won't be the only one reaching back.
Because I've never felt enough reaching back. 
Because she deserves to have the world reach back at her call.

Love is an opening being revealed to me for the first time,
it leads me into her embrace and I can welcome myself in it.

Love is a shared session with my psychologist while she holds my hands and we keep the world from crushing us.