I do not ache because I yearn
to hold the needle
as I stroll
half mind, half soul
at both ends
and to sew
and weave those threads
together
again

there is a bridge I cannot cross
I have burned it many times
on many half ends
and on half taken steps
that just stilled
and I held my breath
and if to see

the water seems void
but endless
and as you see your echo
flow through
whispers seem relentless
and to ask
do you drown
because you cannot breathe,
or do you drown
because you do not want to breathe?

-but you are not loved because it has to be earned
it has been woven into your existence
carefully pulled
string by string
meticoulously
that leave you in awe
when you contemplate

you were created to be loved
as she held her breath
tears in her eyes
not from blood or ache
but something entirely else
you meant the world

you exist to love
and the sweater you wore
warm, made out of polyester
but it was the familiar scent
that made your eyes glisten
and a throat that couldn't
swallow it down

those ashes
they burn
and yet
you'd rather burn thousand nights
and thousand years
to bear it again

you exist from love
it was breathed onto you
and called “Be”
and you became

and you became for love
from the One who created you
Who sent you down
so you could return to Him
and manifest it through
among many other things

sparkling droplets
falling down
but were warm
because the sun shined
and you became

flowers,
scent,
warmth,
home
and the cold rain upon hot sand

the sun shined
and you became

but I-

-I do not ache
not yet,
not still
as I stroll
to hold the needle

I do not ache because I yearn-

I-

I do not ache to yearn.

there's an ocean behind her eyes
an ocean in which she drowns
it's unlike any  
for no light reaches
perhaps,
it's the waves
which she can't pull herself out from
they tug her in
they drag her back
and she pours in
she melts
she returns
as if she had never left at all

there's a desert behind his struggle
and between the sun-kissed orbs
that loved to gaze on the sun
there's a hollowness he feels
it was as if he walked around
on naked feet
and upon broken shards of glass
but there’s a duty he bears
as if suddenly turning older
it meant becoming atlas
with the world upon his shoulders
and his own became ash

but he stays quiet
lips tightened shut
even if the silence weeps

and there's so much to say
but the words are already lost
between what couldn't have been
and between what was
at least most

and there's so
so many paths to walk on
but her bones ache
and he doesn't remember the last time
he had taken a breathe and had sat down

and they might meet,
between holding on and letting go
they might meet on the wrong road
or on the middle  
or in the end
at the right time
at the wrong place
and in between
just two strangers walking by

they might meet
in one gaze
in a single glance

and it would take little
to see the ghosts
of what they used to be
crawling behind
and the trail of blood
it would take very little
to see the ashes of dreams
upon their feet

to see the water
and to see the sand

it would take very little