Dearest you.

I ran into my mirror today

not the kind that shows a face,

but the kind God sends

when you’ve been walking blind

and need to see your soul again.

He came in the form of a man I once knew

briefly, deeply,

like a storm that didn’t stay,

but watered something hidden in me.

With a few quiet clicks,

I landed on May Is.

A title, a timestamp, a trembling.

I had stopped reading his words

out of honor, maybe,

or fear of feeling too much too fast.

But something in me was still running,

still searching.

And that’s where I ran

into his lines,

into the ache,

into a reflection of the war I’ve carried

behind my ribs.

He spoke of May,

of mental health,

of suicidal lullabies and frozen rooms

and how light,

even if cracked and barely breathing,

can still be real.

He wrote to the ones still buried

in the ache.

And just for a moment,

I let myself be one of them.

Because I’ve needed words like that.

I’ve needed to feel safe like that.

But safety and staying

are not the same.

Still

I’ve learned that even faint light

is still light.

And if it flickers,

it lives.

And if it lives,

I’ll follow it.

I’m glad I ran into the mirror today.

Still so

beautiful.

Still so

soft.

Still so

kind.

Dearest you,

You were never mine to keep,but you were mine to learn from. And for that - for the mirror, for the ache, for the light.

thank you.

song: alive & well by Jhene Aiko