The one who taught me to love the hardest had an anchor for a heart herself.

It was as if the ghosts of the people she ceased to know ran riot on her skin in the form of bruises or scars or the in shadows under her eyes.

It was in those times, when she
couldn't keep her demons down, and we when greeted them again like old friends, that we learned to smile with everything left in our souls and pack overnight bags faster than her frantic heart beat.

And we learned to keep secrets, even when the world was quiet enough to hear the rivers running underneath the streets
as they were waiting with baited breath for explanations.

We all knew she meant well, if only she was well.

We kept more secrets than we had taken breaths and yet their burden didn't take hold until days or weeks afterwards and we could barely comprehend reality outside of our twisted youthful minds.

None of us dared to take a breath out of time,
Speak a word or a line out of line with the lies that we were taught to regurgitate from our fire bellies, perfect diamond fallacies,
Galaxies on our tongues.

And so we conclude with the honesty spilled onto pavements during the walk home, like the spirits I spilled on your blouse,
And recount the time I heard someone say that the most beautiful smiles were paired with the saddest eyes.

I see that now.