AP

The way we loved beyond contiguity, in liminal crevices. The way we felt, so bona fide, without closeness. The way you met me in my fires and stayed without any grand display of my rising. Only the slow subtle contentment that seeped into my days, contentment I had prayed on my knees for. You prayed when I couldn't. I felt it. The world should remember our knowing. Of your healing, without knowing me at all.