Before The Dawn

It’s a curse you know, to be a dreamer that can’t rely on optimism. To crave just that one time it goes right, despite all the others screaming for you to extinguish yourself once and for all. But alas, the embers still ignite with the right touch. And if I’m the spark, you’re the charcoal, painted in black. You’ve lit me up when I’ve never felt like much of a phoenix.

A foggy haze shrouds you, lights of red and blue and purple bouncing off the walls. They’re golden at times, almost cradling a halo around you. And for a second I believe that Heaven isn’t out of reach for me.

You hide behind a mask, behind an alter. My darling, is it for shame or security? Retreat or ritual? Nonetheless I found you, tucked away, carving your initials in the back alleys of the same star I call my home.

I can’t see your eyes but I can feel them. And they are bursting with reluctant wonder like a kaleidoscope, trying to drown you in the depths of belief. But high waters never bothered you when you’ve been swimming against the current your entire life. You persist the way I persist.

You want to know if I am out there. I want you to know that I am. I hear the song your heart plays. I’d recognize the tune anywhere, a harmonious hymn after deafening silence. I have searched the skies, turning over asteroids and hop-skipping over satellites to encounter the siren who calls me. And I cannot say for certain that I wouldn’t let you drag me under, because something tells me Atlantis is where we’ll go.

Thousands of people scream for your alias and the poetry you vocalize. But you have never said a word. And I’ve never heard anyone clearer. A divine, silent voicemail persuading me to a place so familiar I could draw a map of it with my eyes closed. I watch your hands and how they tremble forth, anchor themselves to a microphone stand, or rest and heave on piano keys. While I’m aware that talent pours from you like rain, I still haven’t quite figured out how you’re able to have both hands free while holding up a mirror with your own insides residing in its reflection. They look so much like mine.

I know where you’ve been: in pain, at war with who you are and how it feels to have your emotions swallow you whole. I know where you are: in front of me, dancing with being perceived, cascading between realities of confidence and comfort. But there are a lot of things I don’t know. How to bake a cake from scratch without a recipe, anything calculus related, what the hell to do about climate change, when I’ll get the divine privilege to see you next, or where it is you’re going.

If it’s across the world, I’ll pack my bags. If it’s Heaven, I’ll repent. And if it’s Hell, I’ll burn. Just take me with you.