I Don’t Know You

The first time I read your words, I had to look away. 

Light paints a devastating shadow on old, hollow parts.

You made me feel the pain I can't feel.

I don't know you. 

But you changed me. 

Slow as the earth, my corners softened.

A whisper within me raised its voice.

You sit on the highest peak of beauty.

I look up and remember my hard shell

Protects the most precious parts.

I don't know you, 

yet I feel protective of you.

Your courage 

to retreat inside the earth, 

Deeper

so deep you can no longer be seen

by the untrained eye.

Deeper

Guided by the fragrance in your mind,

Deeper

yet radiating such light

it carved a hole we all followed you down.

I don't know you, but you are a miracle.

I don't know you, your flaws.

What shadows stalk your words?

What are the words even you refuse to write?

I wonder—

Who carries you when you collapse?

Who gathers the pieces

when the burden of illumination

becomes too heavy to bear?

Now, I read your words

with open eyes and a fragrant heart.

You don't know me,

but your light reached me anyway.

And I remember

to light the world.