some days I wake up exhausted from trying to fill the space —the unbridgeable distance between whats true and what I’ve chosen as truth, between who I’m becoming, and what I ought to be; space separating me from community and family that l cannot reach.

I have made progress. the distance has changed, maybe—measured in yards now, not miles— but the strands of my hope run fragile and measure short. there’s fear here, and darkness below, and I can hear the voice from the other side of the boy who needs me.

I have gathered my courage. it rests on my chest, burning — and I will leap with it, not jump— even though I know the final gap won’t be bridged, knowing I will be lost because yes, hope and courage are buoyant but gravity is law and I chose to scale mountains knowing everything that goes up must eventually come down.

retrospective is golden, and we’re all faulty memories and secrets — and misinterpretations. and if all the reflection on the other side ever meant was, "I want you to love me.", then all I will scream back at him as I fall will be, "I gave everything in my effort to love you well."