Sometimes my mask slips.
You can catch me off guard
and shine light onto parts of my soul
that I thought only I could see.

You might expect the reaction to be groggy;
Dusty after so many years of being hidden.
But I take in that light like air - necessary,
staring straight into the possibility of a kindred spirit.

It happened once. And that tiny breathe of air,
so innocuous, sent me spinning and
started a hurricane. Part of you resonated with me.
Your truth had the exact same heat of mine.

The same forest wood feeding the flames.
Except you elaborated, and I realised that we
were entirely different wildflowers,
in the same bunch but mismatched from root to petal -

Just grown in the same decrepit soil.
It felt like you had comforted me by wrapping
a soft woolen blanket around my shoulders.
I am allergic to wool, and all it does is burn.

Darkness, again. Yet,
I remember you at times, Ky. When the world feels
so dry it seems nothing will grow,
I remember that you sprouted in the weeds, too.