010 | K
there are places i go to remember i exist and one of them has a name
it's not the forest or the lake or the fire or even the bed i sleep in
her name is a weight and a shelter it's a a tether and a door it's the gravity that keeps me from drifting
her name is a soft place to fall a breath that lingers in the curve of my neck a myth my body remembers
her name is the taste of the word “stay“
— and i carry it like a spine.