You have rain in your veins
It washes over me and shocks me awake
It freezes and turns my thoughts to ice
For a second it’s a childhood snowman then,
Your rain, now snow,
is a melted, muddy puddle among many

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when it’s barely sunrise

Does the crack in your heart ache?
Did you let it safely heal,
or did you pick at the scab?
I couldn’t offer you a tissue,
or a band-aid,
without cutting my own hands.

These pale, shaky hands that strain when writing
Fingers crossed with a hopeful mind
Nails digging in my palms
Scarred flesh from all the countless times,
I have gathered up sharp, broken pieces of people
Supporting their collapsing structure as I bled
Fragments of glass hearts shattered in my eyes
Piles of broken bones creating a grave for not one,
but two.

I used to be a kind captain,
trusting the sea to guide me home
But now that I know the restlessness of waves,
and unpredictable change in the currents
I refuse to go down with the ship,
becoming a smashed seascape in the coral-
only to be remembered in National Geographic,
when they have underwater shipwreck features.

I apologize my timing was off,
and it was you who found yourself caught-
in the chaotic changing of guards around my heart
But I was exhausted and worn from being
stuck in the snowy winter with you;

I need to defrost
I need to save my own soul at sea
I need to stitch the cuts from your edges
And it’s impossible to heal the broken,
when you aren’t even whole yourself

Red Thread Heart

I wonder about you sometimes. I worry even more. I hope you are drinking water and eating and sleeping okay. I hope you still enjoy walks outside and carry a compassion for small animals. I wish you the best while you carry on in this world without my hand in yours.

I don’t know why we were so drawn together, like two broken magnets that were so strong in their connection but so weak in the execution. I know each fortune told in both of your palms though I have never ran my hands over them.

But we still stare at the same moon and breathe the same air. Sometimes that has to be just…enough.

We have these red strings that are like crumb trails to those that matter most in our life. But I don’t imagine there to be only one. Like veins in our body, they reach far and many to our vital organs. Our vital players on this chessboard of life.

I am grateful for you, but I am grateful from this distance. I will tie a balloon to the end of your red thread, and set you free among the stars. You can choose to guide me when I’m lost, but never lose track of your own constellation that holds you close to the moon.