(a tribute to C.S. Pacat)

on a bed
of white flowers,
etched on my wrist,
I wear it as a vow,
above the place
my pulse
tenderly blooms,
forgetting to lie.

her soft handwriting
is a reminder of a journey
I had once taken
between the lines,
forgiveness forming,
from lashes to petals,
on bruised pages.

I carry her with me,
their story, her essence,
kingdoms folding into skin,
her words marking
not only a change,
but a becoming —
the slow-burn
of identity
I can finally place.

and my fingers will trace these scars on your chest — they're no fault lines but darling, i can fall and fall and fold myself into wildflowers on which sunlight unfurls. but this world, it's a battlefield and red roses bloom not from the soil but from the skin and every death feels like the first.

every kiss feels like the last.

and darling, tomorrow, we have all the time to be broken. we have all the time to grow up. but tonight, let me hold you close; my hands are weary of writing elegies. tonight, let me drown in your seastorm eyes; i am tired of looking for temporary ports and for all the wrong shades of blue. tonight, i will read you poems about a girl named helen, who loved despite the war. tonight, the world can crumble down and i can stay right here, safe and sound in the comfort of your sighs, like a girl resting against bruised lilacs. i can stay right here watching you sleep until the earliest hours, forever asking myself how can someone so ******, so broken by this world possess this much softness.

this much gentleness.

this much peace.

regardless, rest your weary bones, my love. morning still is far away.

"ɪ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ, ᴛʀᴜꜱᴛ ᴍᴇ. ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪ ᴀᴍ ꜱᴇʟꜰɪꜱʜ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴄᴏʟᴅ, ɪ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ Qᴜɪᴠᴇʀ ɪɴ ꜰᴇᴀʀ. ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇᴇɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴄʀᴇᴀᴍ ʙʀɪɴɢꜱ ᴍᴇ ᴊᴏʏ, ʙʀɪɴɢꜱ ᴍᴇ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴀʙʏ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴇ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴠɪʟ," ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴠɪʟ'ꜱ ᴛᴏʏ. ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ʙɪᴛᴇ, ʀᴇᴀʟ ʜᴀʀᴅ. ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴍᴇ ꜱᴀᴛᴀɴ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴍʏ ʜᴏɴᴏᴜʀ. ʙᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴄʀᴇᴀᴍ ᴏᴜᴛ ɪɴ ᴀɢᴏɴʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴀɪɴ, ɪ ᴀᴍ ɴᴏ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴠɪʟ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴍᴇ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀᴅʏ ɪɴ ᴅɪꜱɢᴜɪꜱᴇ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏɴꜱᴛᴇʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ 100 ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴀʟʟ ᴘᴀɪɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴀᴛ ᴏɴᴄᴇ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴛ ʜᴇ ɢɪʀʟ ᴡʜᴏ ᴡᴀꜱ ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ɢʀᴏᴡ ᴜᴘ. ꜱᴏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴇᴀʀ ʀᴏʟʟ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴍʏ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ, ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴇᴇ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ɪɴᴛᴏ 1 ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇꜱ. ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀɪɴ ɪ ᴛʀʏ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴅᴇ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏᴋᴇʀ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ ɪ ᴡᴇᴀʀ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇᴍ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ʀᴏᴄᴋ. ɪᴛ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ꜰᴀᴅᴇ, ɴᴀᴍɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ᴅᴀʏᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ ᴅʀᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇ "

On the two week cruise
Across the Atlantic Ocean
I see a ufo
I
Want
To
Believe

December tenth stares from a wall,
At a girl with night-colored hair and
Eyes the shade of a twilight
That blurs purple into the darkness.

The girl looks out
At the blurred edges of this night’s snowflakes,
Falling softly past the windowpane
And down to empty streets below.

It has been more than a month since her birthday,
Her escape from fourteen
That twirled around the clock
A hundred or more times before
Finally stopping.

Maybe not a hundred times,
It was only one month
Repeating again and again
With thirty days of sunshine and one of rain,
Only one of rain.
Madoka always dies on rainy days.

A teacup clatters,
Not quite the clinks of shattering glass,
But startling all the same.
The awakened girl looks into
Kind eyes and golden curls left free to spill over a friend’s shoulder.
Still intentional in all movements,
The golden girl continues setting up the rest of that midnight’s meal.

Tiramisu melts upon tongues as
Two friends sit in silence,
And two survivors let their thoughts soften with the disappearing cake.

The quiet reigns,
Until the twilight girl leaves
With the waking of dawn’s light.
A soft “thank you” drifts with the snow behind her
While unnumbered days rise up ahead,
Forever blocking her sight of what’s to come.

“Fiethsing, no,”
Is something she hears a lot
From lots of people.
Almerius, Grus,
Mooj, even Milest.
Most often though
She hears it from her:
Zero.

“Fiethsing, no
Get off the ceiling,”
As though there’s any better
Place to be read a book
Than up, up high,
High as can be
And free from all,
Distractions
And the ground.

“Fiethsing, no
Chicken’s not food,”
Is really curt
Though it was just a joke
And not in front of Kaguya
Because she’s not cruel.
The rabbit heard though,
She thinks.
One can't trust them
they know too much.

“Fiethsing, no
You need to stay,”
She might dread most
Because it’s true
And she knows it.
But she won’t stay
And Zero knows it.
So they’ll fight,
Either here or later.
But they will
One way or another.
They know that.

“Fiethsing, no
I really don’t want your help,”
Isn’t any better.
It might even be worse,
Because it’s clear she does
When she needs it.
Tense and worried,
Far too much on her mind,
But Zero keeps on pushing
and pushing,
And hides away
As Fiethsing frets
More than most guess.

“Fiethsing, no
Please don’t go. Stay. Please,”
Is the worst.
Her desperate pleas
And that look in her eyes,
Paranoid and fearing
Even though she’d never leave.
She’ll wander, yes.
A lot, even.
She’ll always stay though
At moments like this
When Zero comes apart,
Incapable of believing that.
Or much else.

"Fiethsing, no
you really don't get it,"
is what she keeps on about
arguing on and on
with herself more than her.
Her mind plays tricks
and she seems so far away
and all Fiethsing can do
is sit there and stay.
She can't argue with Zero
not like this,
but she can stick around
even as she tears herself apart.

"Fiethsing, no
I guess you have a point,"
now that's more like it.
A sign
that the tide's receding.
She's coming back down
and she's coming back around.
The fear's there still
and they know it
the both of them,
but Zero's making it
bit by bit
back to her.

“Fiethsing, no
I think I’m fine now,”
Is the best to hear
When she’s resting her head
Against her
Worn out and exhausted
But finally grounded again,
Finally believing again
That she won’t leave,
That she’d never dream of it.

She hears it a lot
“Fiethsing, no,”
And she can’t imagine it otherwise.