Poem 1 The Last Grain It’s strange to think that the care I gave so freely has finally run dry. I can hardly remember how it all began. Only how easily we talked, how quickly the hours passed, and how happy I was simply to be with you. How difficult it was not to be protective of you. And I think that’s what aches most of all. I never lost sight of you. Your tenderness. Your quiet. Your inner world. The light you carried, and the shadows that sometimes eclipsed it. All of it. Still you. But somewhere, you lost sight of yourself. And in trying to reach you, I lost myself too. Through the pain, the slow work of healing, and the unfamiliar labor of becoming myself again, I found my way back. And when I did, I went back looking for you. I had hoped you were still there. And you were. In some ways. Still you. Still lost. Still quiet. Still guarded. Still tender. Still divided. Still overflowing with feelings that scatter And still, I could see you. Only now, something in me had changed. The care I once held so naturally has begun to crumble in my hands. Grain by grain, it slips between my fingers, until even gathering every piece could never restore what it once was. Sometimes, it’s unrecognizable. And that hurts. Because you are still you. Your personhood remains. Nothing about your worth has diminished. But something in my capacity to keep reaching for you has wilted into fatigue. Still, I want to believe that what I poured wasn’t wasted. That something took hold. That the tenderness I gave, even at the expense of my own, might someday bloom into something beautiful. Not because you’ll return. Not because I’ll ever see it. Never for me. Only for you. Just you. You.