Rebirth

It happened so suddenly,

when we came upon an existence so recklessly crafted.

With hands unreasonably weathered and scabbed,

we pushed ourselves into a fabric of identity we had never known,

fingertips tingling with our new-found self-expression.

Minds and souls molding together only to split again,

a constant cycle of fusion and reincarnation.

Every time we would combine into one,

a new identity was found,

and everytime we would separate,

we would take different parts for our own.

The same traits were always in the mix

but their reactions to one another were different every time.

A new person was born with each casual glance,

brushing of hands, words uttered.

With the years apart,

we did the same with others,

stumbling under the weight of their own attributes,

bodies and souls changing,

shifting with every inhale of someone's exhale.

This gift that we had given each other so long ago,

this gift of rebirth,

of an identity as flexible as the wind,

coursed through our veins

and sped through our synapses.

And when I saw you again,

new lines etched into your palms

and different hues reflecting from your eyes,

I turned to despair.

Where were my pieces,

the ones you had taken so long ago?

I had kept yours,

hidden,

locked in a chest so that no one could reach them.

Where were mine?

Had you given them away?

Is that deep blue in your eyes

the payment for my courage?

Is the new confidence in your steps

the price for my laugh?

And you looked at me with such regret,

such sadness.

How could you?

I wanted to mock you,

shame you,

show you that I had done for you what you should've done for me.

I unlocked the chest

that had never been touched,

the one I had put away

after it had become clear the dreamy,

hazy days of the past were not to return.

I pushed it open,

struggling under its weight

the smell of must and bitterness floating in the air between us.

I smiled the kind of smile that carries no light,

the smile I had received shortly after you were gone.

I reached into the chest,

prodding for the deepest parts of you

that I had treasured and cherished.

Fingertips scraped the wood,

splinters pricking me as I pressed against it,

probing for any sliver,

anything of him.

Where were they?

I grew frantic,

who had taken them?

I didn't even remember giving them.

"You're gone,"

I told you,

helplessly.

"So are you,"

you said.

Your fingers stretched out to me,

begging, hoping.

I responded,

breathless with a fear of the unknown I had never felt.

Fingertips pressed together,

kinetic energy swirling,

breaths intermingling,

the same puff of air exchanged back and forth.

Our hands fell back to our sides

and I looked into your eyes,

a faint shade of brown now glossed over the deepest of blue.

We parted.

I put a second lock on the chest.

Maybe I would hold onto you longer this time.