Your name,
Repeating in my mind,
A syncopating rhythm when the nights are long.

Your name,
Providing solace, hope, and longing.

Your name,
Belonging to every iteration of who you have ever been, and who you’ll ever be.

Your name,
Containing multitudes of wonder bestowed to its owner.

Writing is muscle memory.
And the muscle in my chest remembers you fondly.
Every beat a memory,
And when it pounds loudly,
The words flow seamlessly.

I wrote 22 poems last night,
In honor of you.
I’m not saying they’re all worth reading.

But every year that has passed,
Without you here,
Is a year I feel like retreating.

I want to give up the fight,
Get back to you sooner,
Finally see your smile.

Heaven’s too far,
But if that’s where you rest,
I’d walk through hell, every mile.

I was told the Refiner’s Fire
Would make me shine and glow.
I wish I had I known, that long ago,
The true Refiner left open the door.

I could have stepped outside,
And realized the sun is even warmer.
Into a new light, enters my soul,
And instantly I feel calmer.

Free from all the control and lies,
I was told as the fire was lit.
The choice that was always meant to be mine,
Was stripped away bit by bit.

It’s Healing and Grace, I’m needing right now -
I can’t find in the walls of this church.
The fire holds no love for me now,
The sun is what I deserve.

I’m standing in sunlight, still fully loved,
Without fire licking my skin.
After decades in a constricted cell,
I’m breaking out from within.

The refiners fire was always manmade,
A way to foster control.
The sunlight instead, beckons me in,
Bringing me back to the fold.

Careful.
I’ll construct worlds and dreams,
Based on the color of your eyes.
I’ll memorize words,
That you didn’t write for me.
And with every single repetition,
I’ll convince myself your hand fits perfectly in mine,
When we are never destined to touch.
Be careful, love.
Because I’ll never recover from the idea of you.