The wind blows and it too manifests what it must to stay alive
and this I understand
To fight even when everything within you says enough already
one feels only natural to expand as far as the limits allow every once in a while
but what then when critic and conqueror meet?

The errands of love need not explain this land to me because I see how the flagpole quakes without permission
I know what it takes when there’s nothing left to behold
to require more of what you love because the craving exists
and that’s reason enough

So exhale and be free
swallow this gathering of blemished stone and unbecoming flesh
make it more whole than you deem worthy remember
it’s this type of longing you seek

I did not bloom for you.

I wasn’t planted with hope of a hand like yours

to pluck what I became.



I was here.

Growing in a quiet grove,

on the edge of the unseen—

roots tangled in silence,

leaves turned to a sun I thought only I could feel.



You came like weather.

Not loud,

but felt.

A shift in the light.

A question in the wind.



I didn’t call to you.

But still,

you found me.



I watched you stumble in—

mouth stained from strange fruits,

eyes glazed from sweetness that lied.

And I knew you were not lost.

You were done.



Done with wandering.

Done with feasting on ache.

Done with mistaking hunger for worth.



You looked at me like I was something

you’d dreamed once and forgotten.

Like tasting me

woke up something ancient in you.



And it did in me, too.



Because I didn’t know I was waiting—

not for you,

but for recognition.

For a mouth that didn’t devour,

but asked.

For hands that didn’t harvest,

but listened.



And when you bit into me,

you didn’t praise.

You closed your eyes

and let silence say it.



That was the moment.



No music.

No miracle.



Just two beings

who didn’t know they were searching

until they stopped.



Now here we are.



Still.

Rooted.

Fed.



Not written in the stars—

but grown in the dirt,

together.