A circle is complete

"I woke up in tears because of a dream today. It was 5 am. It was a memory that had been untouched in some dusty corner of my mind."

It has been 5 years since I thought I let go.

52 weeks that occurred 5 times and still,

I think each time I started from the beginning;

convincing myself to believe it was never meant to be.

Your face is still clear as a starry night sky

and one of the reasons I never grew.

I kept it buried deep as I found things to do.

The first year

I drowned seven times a week

I told myself it was still the best

when it all had ended.

Whoever could have thought

that such intense sparks could fail to light a fire?

Like love lost in moments of ire.

52 weeks, 5 times later

I still feel those somehow.

My butterfly,

I see those wings have healed.

You were my muse.

You are still my muse, another "one last time".

I dream of watercolour landscapes of what could have been.

Never too sharp, and never to be seen.

It is not love that hurts, it is the absence of it that does.

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"5 am, 5 years ago. For my muse: "

She is one in a million.

That one star that shines the brightest;

if you could count the stars in the night sky.

But not everyone has a clear sky to see.

The smoke blurs everything. 

I had once heard "something that cannot be defined does not exist."

Love is eternal.

Kisses and memories; she cannot really choose between sleepless nights and flowing tears. So she does them both.

But it does exist. Its where she was taught how to live, and how pain is bargained for survival.

On one night of lonely text messages, she decided she was gonna fly away;

like her butterfly had flown away from her.

It was beautiful and she had painted its wings.

Big and small, the scratches look like they are fading away.

But the cuts are deep.

She has those eyes, dark deep eloquent. 

If you stare for too long you cant really choose to get away;

blackened by all the darkness she phases through.

You are not fragile. 

You are not an aftermath of broken promises.

You are strong in ways others cannot imagine.

You are beautiful.

The cuts wont heal themselves and the flowers I drew on them arent meant to be cut again.

So take hold.

You are meant to soar high. With or without butterflies.