I look into your eyes on old photographs,
Drawn away from your smile, I focus on your
Eyes, and I read you, everything within you
Deeply suffocated, like an open book that contains
My story, in development, unfinished, struggling
To grow, unfolding, blossom without injuries left and
I wish that I could have been your friend,
Being by your side when you made decisions
That proved to be wrong, giving you the strength
Of not being subjected to judgement. I just would
Have been with you, both learning how to love,
And maybe you wouldn’t have done certain things
That hurt you.
Whenever you pop up, I feel that pang of heat
In my stomach, because there was a time when we were
Disconnected, shoving each other to the sidelines,
Thinking one page is enough for a book, rendering us
Weaker. A time when none of us knew who we were.
Trying on masks that gave us rashes.
You were kicked and I felt it in my bones.
I look at you, how hard you tried to fit in,
To keep yourself a secret, to get used to
Abuse, to exit the tact of violence, to do what
Others want you to do, to hold on to a world
That’d only exist in your mind, keeping you alive,
To consolidate the dreams that you never revealed
To anyone. Because you’d know what they would say
And do. That flame belonged to you, you didn’t give it
Away, you kept it safe and that’s where we never got
Out of touch, you and I, no matter what the photographs say.