for Rej;

A glimpse of December—the past still hidden under the cloak of an enigmatic stranger—back
when I did not know of the weight the world has dawned upon you.

(If I had known, I would have asked to carry your grief).

Kiss me here and here and there—
make your mark on my skin and profess we are everyone but ourselves.

Together were two souls and unfamiliar faces lost in a city
where no one could recognise us—at least here, we could pretend.
A lingering question hangs between us, like a verse waiting to be written; like a song waiting to
be heard. It goes unanswered for a while, buried deep alongside the skeletons of who we thought
we were.
I cannot help but look back and think of you the night before, the day today, and the countless
tomorrows.
Where have you been all this time?

You look like my new beginning.
You look like a line I would cross despite being afraid.
You are who you are and I am who I have always been. The shadows of the past we have fled to
escape comes knocking at our door, begging for reparations.
Forgive yourself for all that you are, and all you could have been;

let me love you for all you will ever be.
February untangles all our woven constellations. I cannot lie when I say I have not mapped the
clusters of unforeseen events since late January. The curve of your lips and the freckles on your
skin—I try to remember what love has felt like before you, clueless and doubtful and perhaps a
little frightened. Lost in the labyrinth of what ifs and “I wish I had loved you earlier”. But I
know you all too well now: the light in your eyes and the fire in your heart; the parts of you
hidden behind the facade you have built page by page.
Allow me to unravel you line by line, after all, is this not what I am supposed to do with all

that is mine?

On the death of our old reflections come the bluest of our blues—I can no longer hide from the
warmth that is you; I can no longer contain myself under frigid waters; I can no longer dismiss
the blatant truth:

it feels like I have loved you all my life;

let me love you like no one else has.

Let me know you for who you are, and I will try not to flee.

(It seems all my time has been spent wearing out figs from the
tree).

Teach me what it is like to be loved like a habit and not a chore.

(I have not known of a love like this before).

Rest your woes next to mine, will you?

(And I will spend the rest of my life decoding you).

-Alistair Gaunt