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A gift of growth.
you ask for my words.
Something, please, that says yes.
And I stare back,
remembering when you were a painter,
painting colors and words and
smiles into your time.
I was the writer,
coming to my place of refuge
to spend time with my words,
and looking forward to magical times in your arms.
There was no need to prove anything.
No need to need.
Love was something unspoken.
An unqualified yes.
Yesterday you brought me ferns.
A gift of growth, you said.
But how can we grow, I ask,
when we are tied to each other
as we’ve let ourselves become?
Your voice is no longer a mystery to me.
It has become an echo of my own.
And my voice has become buried,
my body paralyzed.
The resurrection is long past due.
If I say to you that I need space,
understand that as my gift of growth.
We can grow together,
but that growth is limited
when we become mirror reflections
of each other.
Only when I can say yes again to me,
and you to you,
can we say yes,
to each other.