man seeking woman. man seeking what never was. man seeking a face he recognized in the crowd.
i was him. you were reaching out and i flinched. you offered, you vivisected yourself to prove devotion and bled—you didn't understand why i was bandaging and not climbing into your open heart. the crowd dispersed from the pews and i learned to love in bloodletting. we were bleeding for three years, taking our turns to patch and open wounds.
anemic on idolatry, we bled on the altar we built. sacrificial lambs unto ourselves—at some point the ritual is more important than the outcome. you always tell me you're dying for my sins but i always seem to end up on the cross.
man seeking the belief. man seeking the almost. man seeking the stability of a wound that never heals. man seeking what could've been, man seeking to reach out and grab hold and find warmth in skin instead of sacrifice.
even as the chill of past souls reverberates through my bones, warning me to watch my back, I want to join hands with a soul and stare into its windows, hear its ring of solid truth, and feel its warmth on my skin.
a person with a mind and soul made of colorful, vivid ribbons quietly walks through the world. she expects to feel the warmth of their smiles on her face. their eyes softly crinkle when they're with each other. when they walk toward her, they grimace - every single time. their voices fade until she can only hear the sound of her loud breathing, feel the chill in the air, and blink the tears away.