maybe we don't talk as much
or sleep together every night anymore
but you still call me baby
and that's enough for me

later turned into never

I stay
thinking that you are my destiny

the woods are home
and i am a pine,
disintegrated and reborn
in the shape of a girl.
“come home,” they say—
i already am, at rest in
the trunk of an oak.
closer to the source of
my atoms than i have
ever been. each tree
has a different voice—
some high, some low,
some smooth, some
rhythmic, all with the
cadence of a lullaby.
“you are home, you
are home,” they say,
and all the leaves rustle
in the wind and slowly,
slowly, i fragment,
fracture, splinter,
shatter—into something
tall, sturdy, reaching to
the sky, reaching to the
soil, reaching through the
earth. the woods
are home and i am
a pine, disintegrated
in the shape of a girl
and reborn into the
arms of the forest.

i am going to tell you a story.
but first, you need to look up—
no, further. further. further.
beyond the ceiling, beyond the
buildings, beyond everything
you know.

eject yourself from your body
and look up
until you can see the stars for
what they are—jewels embedded
in blue velvet, stitched there by
some god’s hand, or orbs of
burning hydrogen
destroying themselves. let’s just
admit it here—we do not know
what they are, the things
we call the stars. does it matter?
they decorate the night. they
sing me lullabies when i cannot
sleep—they will for you, too,
if you promise to listen.

listen to me, too: feel
the universe. feel all the atoms
moving around you, in you, over
you—your hands, the sun, all the
things that have made you hide.
feel them. they are nothing.
feel yourself. you are nothing.
feel the universe. the universe
is nothing. dead or alive, infinite
or creeping towards an ending—

listen to me. stars still implode
when you cry. the earth
does not stop its motion,
the galaxies keep running
further and further away from
us. i know fear, and loneliness,
and the end of the world—and
you do, too. but listen to me.

andromeda does not care that you
throw your voice into the night.
cassiopeia still blinks in the
sky, even when everything you know
on this tiny, wet rock is
breaking itself apart—the universe
will mould all those atoms into
something new. listen to me and
everything will listen to you.

you are part of this existence,
right down to the quarks
that make up your fidgeting fingers
and the electrons that buzz
in your eyes. the night sky
will swallow you up when you
need somewhere to sleep,
if you let it. do not be
afraid. do not be lonely.

you are okay. you are okay. you
are okay because the universe
stands still, with its arms open
for you.

this head
is a blur to
you, an opaque,
one way mirror
reflecting back
your own figure.
so don't try to
guess, or project
how i might
think or feel,
i am a closed
book, and unless
i open up, there's
a cavern that
exists,
a wide endless
pit, a sea, a land,
a piece of sky,
a world growing
beneath hazel
green eyes.