Photo via Pinterest

And so still she wondered…

Who was it that broke you open? Years ago, your heart

fallen, into a million little confetti pieces

so small they’re still scattered, somewhere collecting dust in your past.

You, half awake, haphazard, gathering them back together

while you still don’t feel the impetus to fully believe in love.

To act on it when it shows back up, pawing at your heels.

Body stagnation I wish I could fix. I know, despite your shroud of multiplicity,

your chest does not hold a shallow heart.

I want to know how to resuscitate you-breathe life back into the space beyond your lips. Show you

that my heart knows how to love you. Tap the vein that leads you to allow my palm to rest into yours,

with a trust and a quickening pulse that reminds you of why I’m here,

why we were brought back together in this lifetime.

I want us, to create Us. Carry with us

all of our traveling pieces.

No longer walk in parallel universes, but move, hand in hand, back

into the same.

*

And then, what is it sometimes-standing there on the street corner alone, sushi in your hand and black flowing pants billowing in the breeze as you wait for the light to change, blue bandana on your head, sun on hands and forarms, the solidification of a womanly visceral imprint that at times feels so lovely, it catches in your throat, and there’s this piece of you that is nostalgic, almost-for yourself. And the unique complexity of this Being.