Hearts bruise where we ached and we’d all see a different kind of beautiful. With a familiar skin of a mapped out past, maybe, we’d have a better understanding. We’ll have the marks of blue solar systems, encircling over each knot in our spines. There’d be deep navy in the outstretched tips of our fingers from yearning, from reaching, from holding on and letting go. Colors blooming on the soles of our feet from walking and walking and running with inconsistent monotony. We have marks in our chest, splattered over our racing hearts. We were bodies that hold dark fingerprints by soft things that define who we are.
Yet, planets circle in motion, seasons change and forests grow. And suddenly, our heart beats slowly, quietly soft like fingers on the gentle beginning of your chords. And in the space it takes for a heart to beat, the silence is at its loudest. It resides in our chest. This time, not hammering inside our throat, not threatening to jump out if you open our mouth. It guides us from the middle, pressing into our ribs until we follow it forward. It’s unfamiliar but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. It’s supposed to be fast, it’s supposed to be fluttering but after a long time, it has become calm knowing it was ill. It knows what it wants right now. With a complete certainty that its soundtrack is steady and slow, a single pulse resonates through our veins and we feel free again. The nerves no longer have the teeth to bite in our own skin, as we discover like we’re standing in the sun for the first time.
And maybe, this is what it feels like to have sunshine running through our veins. I wonder whether anyone would be able to see it leaking as if I was about to turn my skin into forests too. Yet I stood, held up by the beginning of a familiar thrumming rhythm. His name tumbled out from their lips. And this is where the stars and the planets and the things and the circumstances have aligned to create this very moment. For a short span of time, it all belonged to me.
“So, does your heart know anything else?”
And suddenly, my entire universe knows this one, the one where everything holds its breath. I know this one, the one that happens under my skin, and the one that feels like my becoming.
And suddenly, there’s bliss again.
And suddenly, words don’t stick to paper as well.
It’s a shame though, losing a sad poet like that.