L

You were my
secret and
my escape, except
that you belonged to
yourself, and

I see that now.

You were my crane-girl, except
you've always been good
at flying.
Your wings like whispers, but
they could scream.
Your words like songs, but
maybe so much more
than music.

You were rain in the way
that your words dripped sweetly
into my mind.
You were ink in the way
that I'm stained.

I still have
every last
folded piece
of paper.

And I wonder sometimes
what happened.

i.
I'm sorry that your unicorn
had to dance
away from my
sanctuary of green,
taking with it
that breath of
magic that
smelled so much like home.

ii.
And with it,
your bird flew
away,
dressed in bare feet and
a patchwork dress,
melodies spinning out
of its mind, and
my hands grasping to
pick them up
before they fell away
too.

iii.
I'm sorry your eyes were
crying;
I'm sorry all I could do
was wrap my arms around
yours and
sigh.

iv.
Do you really think
that I didn't want to
understand? I do.
Why else would I have
pressed countless cranes
lightly into your palm, and
why else would I have
drowned myself in each
response?

v.
You're right about
words never being
enough.
There were things I wanted you
to know, but
my words weren't
the right way to
tell you.

vi.
You're beautiful.