Here I am again,
Standing at the edge of the abyss
ready to throw myself in.
I keep asking questions as if
this time the answers
dare to finally spit something back.
I need a leash for my heart.
Every time it catches your scent,
hears your footsteps,
or the shape of your voice,
it lunges toward you
with such reckless devotion
that I can’t pull it back in time.
I always end up
face first
in the mud, mounded under
the weight of it’s hope.
The heart that used to believe
love could interrupt fate
That if I burned brightly enough,
someone would stop,
drop it all
and stay.
What a beautiful arrogance.
Now I know
even the sun
cannot persuade winter.
Now I know I am noone’s sun.
I am barely a candle in a chapel.
I am, and have always been,
nothing to noone.
In the absence of finality,
I have surmised that you are karma.
Not punishment.
Symmetry.
The universe returning
every discarded love letter,
every careful heart
I mistook for ordinary.
How cruel it is
to find the perfect home for my heart
and spend forever
standing outside the door.
Still,
I cannot call this sorrow
I cannot call you a cheat
I cannot call this a theft
You unearthed things
I had already buried
with both hands.
Beneath all that ash,
the roots were waiting.
Now thorns and flowers grow
without asking permission,
wild enough
to split stone.
Perhaps that is the mercy of love
Not that it finds a place to rest
in you
but that it leaves behind
a version of me
who can never again
pretend to be asleep.
So here I am again,
at the edge,
wearing my wounds
as cosmic inheritance
still vain enough
to believe my love
is something celestial,
still reckless enough
to leap,
even knowing
the abyss
has already learned
my name.