I do not knock

on the door of your heart

locked tightly against

all you long for

and fear

at the same time.

I do not ask

permission.

I come quietly closer

to lay my cheek

against its warmth.

I press my hands

gently

upon the soft spots

not yet hardened by

time and trial.

My arms encircle

protectively

the raw, sharp

and still bleeding parts.

I inhale

the ache of it.

Listen

to its thunderous beat.

I see

the light of it

from behind 

my closed eyes.

With my lips brushing against

it’s coldest spot

I begin to whisper

even knowing

It has long gone deaf

to hope.

I am here…

I am here.

You are not

Alone.