Ashes of My Courage

That summer night, I was no longer shy.

I no longer wished to hide—from your gaze,

from the eyes of the world.

Drop by drop, the courage that had been dripping for years

into the glass vessel of my heart

finally became a stream,

flowing through my dried veins.

That night, I spoke of myself to you.

Short sentences found their own voice.

I told you that sometimes I write poetry—

that where my tongue falls silent,

my heart speaks.

I said the streams of my heart were searching for a path to you,

hoping our hearts might meet along the way

and shape a new story together.

I opened the window of my heart to you,

waiting—hoping—that yours was open too.

I told myself, Do not be afraid;

if one of us is brave enough,

we will no longer be familiar strangers.

I told you I write poetry

and lingered in your eyes.

But your eyes held no spark.

Suddenly, my heart grew heavy;

the blood in my veins ran dry,

and my heart—

like a frightened child—

curled into a corner.

If only you had shown a little care…

How am I to convince this heart now

to smile again,

to open its window once more?

There I was,

left with a pool of released tears—

a pool that traveled from my heart to my eyes.

And that night,

I wept for my heart,

and my heart wept for me.