Girl He Brought Back To Life

He walks into a room like it belongs to him, not in the way of arrogance— in the way of fire that never had to ask permission to burn.

People turn without knowing why. Their shoulders loosen, their laughter finds its way back to their mouths. He carries something bright that refuses to dim itself.

And beside him, I remember.

I remember the girl who ran barefoot through summers, who didn’t measure her words, who didn’t apologize for taking up space in the shape of her own joy.

He doesn’t create her. He finds her buried under years of being careful.

He looks at me like I am not fragile, not temporary, not something he might break by holding too tightly.

He looks at me like I am already wild.

There is something dangerous about him not in the way of storms, but in the way of open roads that make you forget you were ever meant to stay still.

When he laughs, it feels like the world hasn’t ended yet. When he touches me, it feels like coming home to a place I didn’t know I had lost.

And I wonder if he knows— he didn’t just walk into my life.

He walked into the locked room inside my chest

and turned on the light.