I have become good
At wanting things quietly
For you
I become fluent in diluted honesty,
softening every sharp edge of myself
until even my grief sounds gentle.
I ridicule my own gravity
just to prove to you that I can float.
I laugh at the weight of my longing,
make light of all the things
that threaten to pull us under.
But I wonder -
for how long can I keep pretending
that I am weightless,
before I drift so far from myself
that there is nothing left for me to give?
The way you hold me,
so instinctively,
as if your body knows something
your mind is unable to speak.
You filled the cracks in me so gently
that for a while, I stopped noticing them.
You proved to me
that touch did not have to mean pain,
but could be a way
of letting in the light.
And you continue to feed my fire
just enough
to keep the room alive through the winter,
but never enough
to let that fire take hold.
You hold me together so carefully,
all while making sure your fingerprints
will not remain.
Temporarily
in your care.
I never was something you planned to keep.
But maybe I knew that.
And I choose to hold on anyway -
to something that never was intended to stay.
And perhaps that is just the nature of your trade -
To hold something together
Without ever calling it yours
After all, the conservator never keeps what he preserves.