the past like a buried bone, scattered like the bruises
that once were a heart, yet still relentless.
the air is alive with the dust of our longing.
these are all the fevers we’ve learned how to live with.
these are all the scars we can’t live without.
it was then when you came to me, restless and yearning.
we were never good at choosing our own demons,
but you leaned in, hands upturned.
i did not know that wolves are even capable
of unlearning themselves.
i could not dare tolook at my own hands.
in the absence of words, i stitched up the wounds.
it was a cold spring morning when i found it.
an entity for which you don’t have a name,
the one which you were built for.
love taking root in a corner.
light flowing from within,