the last time I wrote about you, I said
this is what it feels like to stay
and then we spent a full year leaving.
we spent a full year on a seesaw
one of us rooted to the ground, feet planted in desperation
the other rocketing toward some wild escape
and then trading places
never in the same place at the same time
until now.
how did we finally get here, my sweet summer breeze,
to this quiet spot in the grass
giggling like school children when we find a shiny bug, or tell a stupid joke
rolling around, kicking up pollen, sneezing, and laughing some more
the last time I wrote about you, I said
this is what it feels like to stay
and I don't think I knew what it meant.
it was a pearl I had picked up in low tide, a beacon,
a wish that I whispered to you at dusk,
an incantation,
and I suppose it came true,
even though our path to staying was midnight black and too sharp
and we cut our fingers on the handrails, crying
reaching for each other even in the pitch darkness
even through eclipse season,
we stayed
even through the leaving
we stayed
and after a full year of hacking away at the underbrush together
one fallen branch at a time
we saw the sun through the trees
and we followed it.
day by day, we followed it
like a covenant
and now we don't rush anymore.
we don't leap away from the ground most days,
we don't dive headlong into defeat,
we don't leave.
we stay
in the dappled sunlight,
resting in meadows along the way
we stay
and we keep walking
and we do it together
and I know what it means now.
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