I am sad.

There is truth and it is on our side.

Darkness loses in the end.

Death loses in the end.

This is the thing I believe, the thing I keep tucked in my heart hidden in a small locked box.

Oh, I know this thing. I breathe.

Oh, I know this must be true. I breathe.

It is hard, it is hard, but I love mine so. Let them be forever.

Then there are the whispers, the ones who hate me.

"Please let this be true?" I question. I wonder. I hope. I think and then hate thinking, and force it to get consumed by the truth I know because

If it is not,

I cannot bare watching. I cannot be witness to the end of you or the end of me.

My sister, you are loved.
I will remember playing with imaginary bridges, and the bridge from me to you is real and always.

Whoever you are to me, you are more precious than the rest of this world.

The swings,
the way you let me read the things I felt to you-- confused. Confused, but trying to move your hand on my hand. Trying to make me feel better and questioning what it was that made me breathe so hard, and made tears come to my eyes when you could see in front of you without being blinded by the sorrow of everything before and after you.

I was so happy, you were happy. I had joy for you, because I knew that you didn't know the truth of what I knew. The very short time we have, the very cruel and the very beautiful.

You love the sun on your body (and I love it on mine).

You inhale with everything and you don't take it all in. I am jealous of your light heart.

The truth is on our side, love. We are invincible today. You will get it all, and I would give it all to you. I will fight for the truth to be real to me.

Light wins in the end.

Life wins in the end.

Leaves you filled to the brim
and I know
that there are so many challenges and barriers and ways you don't feel enveloped by
the delightful.

The slight touch of a warm hand on your shoulder, can reduce you to someone who remembers they were hurt or are hurt by
all of the veins of kids on street corners that have track marks
and that girl with the jutting chin who swears this is the life she wanted but

sleeps on a mattress in a whorehouse. All she wanted was to play music.

I see you. People want to know that there is hope.
We want to know that there is hope.

This cannot be it and that in the very depths
I know you want more.

Flex, and bend with your arm reaching backwards and stretch from the fingertips of your wingspan,
through and over to where your feet blend into the speckled earth;

Look at me,
You think I don't see you growing wings?

You think I don't know how it hurts to have feathers carve a notch in your shoulderblades and to have to decide
whether it is okay to enjoy hot tea and flavored water,
and you think
I can't see you struggling
to see if it okay to leap off of a cliff and if you can catch yourself and ride with the wind and let yourself
be someone that just might know
how to wield your own wings?

Swallow and your mouth is parched, strands of light coming and flowing from your body,
and all the people,
do the same thing. Do they not know that
this is an emergency?

How do we not notice that we're not moving any longer?
Champagne and strawberries in some rooms there are small bubbles fizzing over and the tart tangy taste of ferment, and hearts that are pretending that "Yes. After-all, this must be it."

I remember you,
and it is terrifying to recognize so many people. I take what I see from you, and I wait for you to call me out as an imposter.

But I am old. I have been here for some time, and I remember the allies and enemies that are the drifting and intoxicated with the idea that options and choice are not finite.

We played word games in a small house in France, and your eyes were far away as you told me about your daughter who died in Africa of dehyrdation. We knelt before the same God in different ways on the dusty ground, in the open, and we were trampled by chickens and vendors selling another bite to eat to another hungry face,

and I gave you the equivalent of a moment of my life and you gave me a mango.

You invited me into your home, and you slaughtered the only animal you had left. You held me naked and helped me into the shower to bathe when I could not move my ankle, my spirit, my legs.

You took me dancing in a country where I could not speak the language. You looked at me while your little girl looked at you, and your face remained impassive as you had bandages wrapped and rewrapped over your burns.

You told me you didn't like to listen to music while walking because you would miss the sounds of the street.

You asked me if you could dance for me in a smokey room. You told me to pray with you, and when you prayed I listened and so did the Lord.

You told me you drove fast but you did not know why. You told me that serving was selfish because of how we feel when we do it.

You held me crying because of how overwhelmed you were with pain, and I was too, and I knew then I would love you forever.

You had children who could have been overcome with disease, but you stayed faithful and you stayed home and you did not leave.

Of course I recognize you. How could I forget?