mistakes

We were just two children
Really,
Not knowing which way to
Turn the maps,
But finding our own way
Anyhow.

Our own strangeness
Propped us up
Until we were
Curling our fingers
Around a strange sky,
Two stars touching,
Neither hot enough to
Burn the other.

You learned how to cry quietly,
The same way that I learned,
Holding onto your stomach
Like a little bear that was worn out
And threadbare
From the wear and tear of a
Lonely childhood.
A tear slipped,
Like a boy on a wet slide,
Pooling at your nose.

“I keep making mistakes.”
You said.

And I told you

That I would delight in
Any mistake
you had ever made,
Or would ever make.

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