I watched a grainy film once, through blurs of a stolen light, words dropped like crumbs. I picked them all up, kept them safe tucked away in my mind, until I had the puzzle pieces to give them back their shape.
years later, I etched a number on my hand. not for him, but for the girl, who mimicked the words before knowing what they meant.
now I wear his language like a second skin, slightly flushed from the heartbeat beneath — pulsing with all once chased, and incomplete.
I didn’t know it then, how far that ship would sail — how it would anchor me, then leave behind a trail to places only dreamed, with a way back for when I was ready. I didn’t know it then, how it would lead me to chart entire lives into maps of unfolding, guided by a compass of poetry — all of it once borrowed from a screen.
this one started with a pirate, and ended with poetry. a tribute to my 13 year old self, at the brink of the world. July 5, 2025