And still, the wind knew...
Hi, comes the text
like a flicker in the dark.
I reply,
and the truth spills in lowercase:
“on an honest scale,
not doing so great.”
no long replies.
just:
i’m on my way.
then:
headlights like hope
on tired skin.
a car door opens
to a silence I don’t have to fill.
i look like a story
no one stayed to finish
disheveled, eyes swollen
from crying in between
other people’s joy.
he drives.
no questions,
no weight,
just wind in my hair
and indie songs that
understand me better
than anyone else ever did.
tears come quietly,
like old friends.
he lets them.
at the lake,
he leads me to stillness,
to the quiet
beneath everything loud.
we sit.
no fixing.
no fear.
only grass,
grief,
and the soft, unbearable beauty
of being seen
without having to speak.