I watched a grainy film once,
through blurs of a stolen light,
words dropped like crumbs.
I picked them all up,
kept them safe
tucked away in my mind,
until I had the puzzle pieces
to give them back their shape.
years later, I etched
a number on my hand.
not for him,
but for the girl,
who mimicked the words
before knowing what they meant.
now I wear his language
like a second skin,
slightly flushed
from the heartbeat beneath —
pulsing with all
once chased,
and incomplete.
I didn’t know it then,
how far that ship would sail —
how it would anchor me,
then leave behind a trail
to places only dreamed,
with a way back for when I was ready.
I didn’t know it then,
how it would lead me
to chart entire lives
into maps of unfolding,
guided by a compass of poetry —
all of it
once borrowed
from a screen.
this one started with a pirate, and ended with poetry.
a tribute to my 13 year old self, at the brink of the world.
July 5, 2025