i. in the afterglow of your heartache, i bathe in respite and cradle your sinking form out of hope if nothing else, because like the greeks, we are simply sparks from which are born ashes, scattered, breathed in; catalysts in infinite motion but not much more, and i tell myself i can be selfish just this once; i have lifetimes to repent.
ii. there are constellations dotted across your back & when we are stuck in our eternal limbo, i trace them with the pads of my fingers, calloused and warm— warm enough, if you’re still here. we are tied together by the stars, celestial in nature, but light years apart and if i can have nothing else, this must be my ‘good enough.’
iii. i hold on to you, lifeline, but there are lone threads with less give than this thing we have, and our tether is holding on by just the hairs on the back of our necks; they scream when we separate, when your warmth travels downward, outward. the noise is deafening without your palms over my ears, and i come back to you again, again, again--
Fatima Shahid is a fifteen year old sophomore from New York City, as well as an emerging author with publications in journals such as Juven Literary Magazine and The Augment Review.