Across the Heavens

Pull me under to where you fought the hardest in crevices of what was and should have been.

Drop me into the wasteland of your unloved years so I can remember the reflection in the mirror who first taught you how to climb inches so you could ascend the depths of self-doubt. Through shattered glass, I will recount the whole picture.

Take me to the cave where you hid when everything felt mistaken, and I will admire the impressions of your cluttered mind as if charcoal, etched onto the stones with determined fingertips. The hardest part waits, always, at the gaping maw — so easy to fall back in.

Guide me to the highest mountain top, the peak you climbed to finally escape something that couldn’t be defied in the darkness. And I will scream your name because you have never heard the way it sounds echoed across the heavens.

Show me the forested cliff where you first befriended the feeling of freedom, and I will remind you that it is still a part of us, always.