I loved the scars on his hands
From when he baptized himself in a pile of dirt on a playground.
Reaching before knowing, like he always did.
Once grabbing hold of me
And I loved him.
His eyes may not have been beautiful, but his soul was.
Like that same boy who dove headfirst into the dirt his spirit shone through his crooked smile
And lanky gait.
It was love because I could see his heart,
It hurt because he stole mine.
Out of my hands rough and calloused from testing before reaching
And my chest fresh from being freezer-packed for years.
It was love because it tested boundaries that didn't exist until we found them
I know it was love.
I hope it was love.