A Glass of Water

It was always your simplest request, and yet it was something you needed. A glass of water always helped you feel better, think clearer, stay awake.
Last night, we watched each other die on the screen again, and I didn't let you touch me. You tried to reach out for me again, but this time I turned away. But you didn't let me; instead, you pulled me close and held me tight, then you told me it would be alright this time. I thought I would cry alone, as usual, and then I felt your tears on my hair. Without words, without sound, we cried in each other's arms, and I understood love in its purest form.
After that, we just turned, looked into each other's eyes and smiled, no need for words. Things were back to how they were before, and we would make things right this time around.
I slept in your arms, like a little girl seeking for protection under her father's wing. You're the father I never had, the one thing I always wished for. And as I wrote earlier, I'm not failing you this time.
Last night was perfect. And all because of one simple request.
"Would you...kindly get me a glass of water, Amanda?"
And my question remains the same:
"Do you need anything else?"