Wolfy Chai

I saw his face in the dimly lit street-puddles.

I ran my fingers slowly along the sides of his face.

I felt the scruff of his thick beard.

I saw his face when looking up at the constellations in my dreams.

I wondered how on earth I would get up there.

I felt his warm breath on my shoulder.

I beckoned for him to come a little closer.

I heard his voice in the silent moments when I was all alone.

He heard my cries when I was in pain.

I cried and cried and wondered if he would ever come to me.

At the peak of my anguish, when I had laid it all out: ugly, barefaced, deranged.

I choked on my tears, my throat tightening up so much that I could no longer whisper anything into his ears.

I could not longer explain why I am the way I am.

I could no longer find ways to justify it.

I could not longer seek a refuge to hide from it.

I just am who I am.

I heard myself internally wonder: if he will still love me with all that I have shared.

I asked myself many things.

Hoping that he would care, but not stare.

Hoping that all my pieces could be put back together, even if my smile was put on crooked and snared.