years believing the world was wide enough,
lost to April fog.

I'm reaching back to tell you what I know:
mountains hold more majesty in clouds
shrouded in a dying winter rain
and their smallness holds warmth
within the wet.

you'll never feel as strong as stone
supporting feet beneath a forest floor:
but two vines climbing
entwined as lovers' fingers
touch sky with pride enough to bloom.

you want so much to be enormous
and take up space like we deserve:
but we fade like flowers in the wide expanse,
Scattered and lonely, small and frail,
who breathe joy into the cliffsides by the sea.

you need to catch the world on fire
in the hopes of a vengeful burn,
but when wildfires frenzy the fields
from them grow the gentlest blossoms
outlasting what had once consumed them.

I know you have wanted to feel alive,
but I have never felt as real as when I see the stars above me,
And feel the daggers of cold within me
shaking in my bones,
and feel the pull of a lover's hand to ensure I do not fall,
And watch with peace, inseparable,
The purple cliffside by the sea.

You and I are movable as April fog,
Blown about, weeping,
and yet the sun has not cleared us for good.
Always we return, cold and damp,
soft and exhilarating,

take a moment to breathe,
the world is wider than you thought,