live long enough to see yourself become the hero. you grew up in the coldhearted land, holding your own hand. the sharpness of the air stole your breaths, turning them to short puffs of fear. your eyes were downcast, watching every step forward, making sure you stayed on your feet. there’s no room for dancing yet, but bravery comes in many forms. look: you’re alive. your words, which used to falter and slip like children on ice, stand firm and form figure eights. understand that we were born on dead soil, and now: look. these new blossoms are the color of your eyes. the sword your father crafted out of your broken call is clean. give it to me—I’ll knight you. this crown I give (in place of your furrowed brow) is made of life. here is the gift; gold, eternal and bright, is cold to the touch. the flowers on your temples will wilt without love, but they live all the same. next year, their daughters will bloom under your fingernails. you spread seeds with every hand you hold. the land you grew up in is filled with color, it’s your fault line that cracked open the ground to reveal the sunken soft soil. the sky is clear. the sun kisses you. we inhale deeply the scent of love.
may sparrow - you were born in winter, but I see spring inside your eyes, love
