After yesterday's Nashville show these thoughts give me comfort...
It's not her that he looks up to through the sea of faces and lights when he needs a second of reassurance...
It's not her standing in the shadows just watching, listening to every lyric, watching every move, laughing at every corny joke, admiring every inch and every quirk...
It's not her arms that he falls into when he gets off the stage...
It's not her that he folds himself around at night, while whispering his frustrations of what his image has reduced some of his fans too, and then laughing about and admiring the fans that have still managed to somehow, through all of that, bring the rainbows and allow him to drape himself in them so proudly...
It's not her that runs him a warm bubble bath after a hard show and sits on the edge flicking bubbles at him only to be dragged into the depths of the water with him, sloshing water everywhere laughing hysterically...
It's not her that brings him warm tea and rubs vapor rub on his chest when he's feeling under the weather, while humming softly till he falls blissfully asleep, resting a tired and raspy voice...
It's not her face he sees when he falls asleep and it's not her face he sees when he wakes...
It's not her nose he kisses as soon as he wakes every morning...
It's not her brilliant smile he is rewarded with that lights his whole world when he does...
It's his...it's him... and it always has been.
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