Someone is standing over me, and I think it's the Sun. For a moment she looked just like you, kissing my cheeks, stretching over my hips, my wrists, adorning me with praising rays of shimmer. So close to her, I am. She could not be you, I realize.

And the mourning doves are wading through the martyr's trench, enveloping my body, rebirthing me through the crest of the moon's giving tree. Through the fall of each leaf, through the bloom of each bud, I am gifted breath. I can faintly see her through the cracks between the leaves.

I am a hook sinker to an ocean of calamity, and as I am dangled from the stars, for once I can choose where I'll wash ashore. She watches me, daring me to make the wrong decision again, as I have so many times over.

I see clarity, I see you.

You will not hold me as purity will, you will not cradle my face in your calloused, raw hands because you do not see that I dive through hurricane and choke through salt water just to catch a glimpse of your back, turned to me, and aching for he who won you over.

I reach for your shoulder, and I am met with only a handful of sand, alone on this familiar, deserted cove. For once, I yearn that you forget of my hopelessnesses and hold me like I do not scald your grasp. For once, I would like to trust that you do not know me, that I no longer understand you as intimately as I do the Sun.

You fail to catch me once more, the Sun picks me up again, and with clouded eyes, I make the same mistake, thrust myself toward a circle of longing.

You could not be the Sun, no. Nor could my mother, nor could my father. Her love is unconditional, unsourced, and bountiful. You could not spare me a tender gaze, I could not spare myself the dignity. I will not meet heaven until I respect the principle of happiness, but for a moment, I saw it when you held me.