hasty elk
Sometimes I think I was born to love you
in such a poetic and exaggerated way,
just like thought itself.
You know…
if someday you miss me,
let me know.
It’s just that I’m still here — I never really left…
If one day you notice
the space I used to occupy
echoing through the room,
know that I still want to fill it.
I need more than simply being myself
to understand my feelings
or live with them.
I wander devastated.
I miss the eudaimonia
I felt when I was with you.
I can’t pretend
that I’m not afraid
that this beautiful… fruitful tree
I placed my faith in
might rot… lose its roots
and turn into a vast empty field
of memories that cover the color of the world
and turn it gray.
Tell me something…
is there any number after zero
for the chances of me being your person?
Do I have to bleed to be yours?
Does love only exist
while I tear my chest open for it?
I…
I could endure that.
So if someday the silence of your house
becomes too large for you,
if the nights begin to echo
the space where I once existed…
and if my smile suddenly appears
in your memory,
along with the scent of my perfume…
call me.
It doesn’t have to be beautiful.
It doesn’t have to be an “I love you.”
Not even a promise of forever.
Just say my name
like someone who admits
they still remember,
that they haven’t given up yet.
Because I’m still here,
holding what remains of us
like someone protecting a flame
with their whole body
in the middle of a storm.
And if you come back —
even broken,
even confused,
even if you don’t know whether you love me
like before —
I would still know
how to recognize you.
I would still see you
as home.
So call me.
Because I swear…
I still know
how to love you.
teal blade