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He fell into understanding me,
as if by accident,
the same way we sometimes
find God in brokenness
without realizing it.
It felt to me like
the kind of understanding
we can severely
deprive ourselves of,
like a beautiful crime,
as if I’d spent my whole life
writing only for him.
Never mind the names
my theorems were called after.
Never mind that
many parts that were borrowed
were never returned.
It felt like some
manner of salvation,
to be read by him.
As if the only losses
truly wasted were the ones
left unregretted.

They were earthbound
constellations, his feet,
walking on the low tide
of my claim to endlessness.

He made it a point
to swallow my tears
as if life were seeping
out of my eyes.
My surrender bled into his kisses
without resistance,
as when a memory runs home
to the coward
who has to remind herself
in order to forget
and by the time I was done crying
he had taken all of my pain
and his hands
were on me,
right where they should be.

He is caressing my soul
as he reads these words
that I’m leaving here
for him to find.
He will know that it’s for him,
this time,
that he was meant
to read these lines.

He wants to occupy a heart
that takes
as much of life
as mine does,
and decodes both
inadequacy and defenselessness
and understands him,
it’s not a waste of a life
to spend it
trying to be whole.

“Kiss Me” by photographer Sanya Khomenko