“To love someone is to attend a thousand births of who they’re becoming”

The sunshine that peeks on the casement played the cries for replacement.

Between the fallen buds and infants of bees, I still exist in the same field I decided to grow with your contrasting leaves, for my warmth has no poles apart with your revelations.

I think I’ve been lounging on the couch beside your soul’s delivery up until the funeral of your previous ones. The patter of your feet, the ear-splitting of your weeps, and the panic in your knuckles didn’t cause me to flinch.

There were no pangs of remorse for the weight I held and for the pipe dreams I lost grasp of. The changes and agreement to the promotion of your editions gave me both a ghost of grief and relief. I never withdrew out of fatigue but out of love — a love that was once mine to care.

It was meant to change after all — you were meant for it.

In every form and linen you laid on to make me judge, there were no delays of sketching stars, rating you a hundred for all the versions you’ve plotted. Because in case you forgot, I was the one who carried you inside while illustrating yourself — you were half of me whenever you invited me to come out equally the same as the person I shared roots with.