Letter to my Heart

If I were to rise every morning, with you, and with the sun, maybe then my butterfly wings could shake off their dust. Maybe then, with your breath hot on my cheek, a little antenna could pop out of my cocoon. There is dust on these translucent wings, and on the sun too. I have been living long without you and the moon makes less of an impact on my day.

Rise, with me, and the sun. Ask to see the wings and ask for liquid. The darkness has been long cast and the shadows have grown. The dust has laid thick upon the floor and is too heavy for flight. Oily hands brushed it aside, only to create muddier pools.

Stay here.

I cannot have one without the other, so please lay your flame down. The fire will dance in light, create darkness, yes, but above all, my wings can shine in this. This too will burn off the layers, burn off the thick skin, and burst my calloused wings into gossamer hope once again.