your love from the ruins

I sit by the window,

letting the dusk illuminate my swollen eyes that got tired,

tired of waiting for an owl with your letter.

I thought of the countless words that

I have weaved and the words

that you have spilled,

on how they formed into this fragile and narrow bridge,

that connects us--our hearts,

yours with rooms so many as to mine

that is only yours and the rest is empty.

In this dimly lit room,

I thought of how love

brought us to each other and how its flames--

raw and untamed,

danced destructively on our bridge,

burned away the traces of ink,

our mighty parchments of love and longing now into ashes.

So I write to you,

to reach you and to build another bridge--

one that is braver and stronger not any emotion could ever break.

I wait for your turn to

write with a tear-stained face,

that my arms are not the ruins of our past,

it is where our love,

your home,

your only place and

hoped you might want to come back.