Into The Sunlight, Into My Love

Ravens. Then crows. Then maybe a darkness that followed me for years. I tried to dress it up with stars – I thought it’d do the same for me. That in a closed room, with no windows, we could still take the breath from one another’s mouth and live. And that we wouldn’t feel trapped or sad. And that if I promised, you would promise, not to wish for colour.

I wanted to ask you how you’re sleeping now. Does the sunlight caress your face like the cupped hand of a tender lover? Or do you still sit in that room, sometimes, alone? Is it getting hard to breathe without my breath? Or did someone else dress you up with stars brighter than I could ever conjure?

How do I tell you that I cut down the tree outside my bedroom? I’ll let the empty space talk where I cannot. Still, it doesn’t stop the bluebirds – or the cardinals – or the canaries. They land on the edge of the windowsill and sing. In the morning, I turn my face into the sunlight and open eyes. And there is my tender lover, smiling.


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