I have fallen so far, a downward turn, like an injured bird and I catch sight of your window, but cannot get in, again and again and again beating myself upon the pane that separates your goodness from my turmoil. I should not let you open the window, I should not fly in, or crawl in, or even look in.
Your light has given me breath so many times, so many times… when do you get something wonderful that you deserve? I am not it. I am frayed and damaged, my threads coming lose one by one to drag behind me in the mud and in the rain. Sometimes I come unraveled so much faster that I don’t have time to see where the threads have blown away to… maybe to another broken bird, maybe into the sea where the waves will drown them and hide them from you.
I don’t want you to see my frayed edges, o you of perfect form and texture. O you who feels like silk to my hungry fingers as I search for some place I can lay my head on you. But you are too graceful, and the wind only caresses your skin, gently. There are no rain drops, or pelts of hail, or gusts, or shakes of thunder that you fear… no no, no. It is only I who am afraid…. As I walk alone without you, I look over my shoulder, looking for your smile.
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