our histories

I know you can hear me, my thoughts speak to you in the quiet death of a dark room. I carry you in the softest sections of my being, cradled deep in my center. The moment we met, I knew that we have been and always were. That all this time, I have been guided by the corners of events to catch a moment where you might arrive. When I am with you, my skin rises in sensation and every word is a song, and every image is art. I fumble the meaning, trying to let you know, to speak some semblance of understanding but my body speaks to yours whether my mouth moves or not. Our love is slipping through the cracks of silence, leaking from the blue in your eyes. I remember our histories, pieces moving into place, each memory a shaded version from my dreams.