Gift

I would have, and would still
Give anything to catch you.
I would fold the sky into my palm
And place it in your pocket;
I would chase the sun
All the way to the sands
To be the one to hear your heart
Palpitate
To the sound of the sea breathing.

I would dance for you,
I would change for you;
I would weep in the glory of
Giving the tiniest star your name
And flying you there,
Where it won’t seem so tiny anymore.

I cannot move earth
And heaven:
The Great Ceiling is boundless
With not an edge to fold inside itself;
The sea holds in her hands the
Bewilderment
You cannot yet face;
The tiniest star might just be
Not
Quite
Tiny enough.
I'd leave more on your doorstep
Than a heart and a head
If I was more than that myself.

Please, as you wander now,
Often watching me wander,
Seeing every bright streetlight
As the newfound Northern Star—

Know that
I will still dance for you,
I will always change for you.

Whenever you wander,
Maybe watching me wander,
Remember that I can always
Write for you.

Bonne Hiver, the second chapter

I look at you now and hope with all my being that you’ll remember me, even when you get distracted and could easily forget to.

My stomach couldn’t quite find the energy to churn while I sat next to you, arm pressed against arm. It should have, given the circumstances. It was unbearably difficult for me to comprehend that you actually followed me into the dark just to be given the chance to pull me out again. Yet, we listened and we learned. You looked at me every once in a while, scanning my face for any signs of unease that I could have told you didn’t exist. I was, after all, with you, arm pressed against arm like we were. I could smell something in you that I finally could breathe in with my eyes closed, taking in nothing but the glory of experiencing who you are.

I wish you knew how much it means to me, how glorifying it is to be able to look you in the eye and claim that I know you. You don’t like making decisions. You prefer to cross your right leg over your left. You hate yourself for your fervent love of dependence. You like to write notes on your left hand. You work very hard to suppress your cynicism every day. You’ve had the same haircut since high school. You love debatably more deeply than anyone I know, but you don’t express it unless you genuinely trust someone and even then, you make it difficult to decode.

In many ways, it is safe to say that I know you. I want you to want to know me. I pray every day that you sat next to me that night for some greater reason, that you felt so inclined to walk me through the fire only partially because the fire once burned you.

I want you to love me. I promise I will love you, that I will make you feel useful and appreciated. I promise I won’t have to use words to tell you. I will just let myself grow overwhelmed in your presence and you will feel it somewhere in the corners of your consciousness, and that in itself will be enough.

I want you to know what it feels like to be needed. I want you to need.

I look at you now and hope with all my being that you’ll remember me, even when you get distracted and could easily forget to.