I would go to him—
Not for closure,
But for constellation.
Not to explain,
But to exist.
To stand barefoot
In the space we already built
Between grief and grace.
I have rearranged
My sanctuary,
My sky,
My silence.
Each feather placed,
Each wand lifted,
Was a whisper to him:
I remember.
Let the oceans repeat themselves,
Let the deserts keep their bones—
I would trace every tide and tremor
To arrive not just in his arms,
But in the truth of us.
Even if our time never wears
The name "forever",
It has already carried
The names “holy”, “healing”,
and “home.”
I am the wind now—
Not frantic,
But sovereign.
And I would go to him,
Not because I’m lost,
But because
I have never been more found.