but I think this is the first time they’ve had equal say about whom I choose to be with.
I wrote this on the bus home today.
My little heart is clutched tight in my hand
as I make my way across the city
In time, its wings have learned to fly again
It’s soft and warm
beating only slightly harder
trembling just a little
On the way back, my hand is empty
My heart wasn’t stolen,
I left it willingly.
It perches on her shoulder
As light as it can make itself
I trust her bones to hold it
I trust that there’s a hollow in her chest
where it can sleep sound
(however small that may be)
I trust her gentle fingers
I trust her not to grow tired
of the flutter of its wing-beats
of the music of its song
of every note that is now sung
for no one
The most surprising thing about all of this is how safe I feel. On loop, behind my eyes, is the part where she’s lying close to me and telling me how happy she is. I’m happy and I’m making somebody happy. We learned a new recipe and I told her things and asked her things.
Hardly anything feels afraid and my decision is complete. She had plans for us that I very nearly all missed out on. They’re written in a small pocket planner. Everything that is to become real starts as a dream that’s specific. Like, not “Our day will come / and we’ll have everything” but “We’ll go hiking in this specific area, on this specific date.” I am learning this.