Let fever come now and then, shaking my body. You'll check on me anxiously, again and again. Whether the fever rose or fell, if I took my medicine, if the body's ache eased — you'll pester me endlessly to know. I want you, sometimes, to pester me terribly.
Let melancholy come now and then, chewing me up, devouring me whole. How tenderly you'll stroke my head, breathlessly offer to take me out, rack your mind trying to understand my sadness. I long to see you worry like that.
Let something good happen to me now and then. You'll smile softly with affection or love, with tenderness or rapture, pinch my cheek and say... there's my mischievous little bird! I crave such caresses.
Really, let pimples cover my face now and then, let dandruff fill my hair, let my hands get wounded, let small injuries leave scars on my body. With eyes full of compassion, brows furrowed in concern, you'll reach out gravely to touch and examine, sometimes apply medicine and say with deep attention... don't worry, everything will heal.
Truly, if you're here, if I have you, if you touch me, everything will heal! . . . whether real or pretense. In performance or pleading. Sometimes I want to play the fool.
Only you, just you being here — and I'll be perfectly fine.