so now I say to you, my heart,
to the girl who burns,
you should never cross that mountain,
the one they built of skyscraping expectations for a child
now too grown for their chains,
built from dreams you did not dream.
you need only be enough for yourself.
as for that other peak
your pilgrimage in search of an
insurmountable love--
it is too early to foresee anything
in a sea so vast
and unpredictable.

and you have learned your lesson
with pyromancy. love should not burn too bright,
for eyes ablaze tend toward blindness, anyway.
your fingertips scorched hearts made of wood
too pliant, or too unyielding,
and thin branches that
could not sustain or stand
your vibrant flame.

you once believed in no one and nothing,
lost in a landscape of eternal fog.
“they always leave, little bird”, you said once,
and you have every right to be afraid and look away--
but do not leave yourself either.
so, stay. linger for a while longer,
and wade through the vague, heavy gray.
a world of “what if” is a world of hope, too.

with iron resolve, then, rally yourself!
you have bloomed into a rose
lovely and fierce in your own right.
turn your well-worn eyes to the sea in the sky far above,
remember: the stars falter sometimes too.