Under starlight,
in a life before this one,
we crossed in silence—
not strangers,
but souls wrapped in different names.
We’ve walked here before,
through winters no one noticed,
holding a small flame in cupped hands,
not knowing we were tending the same fire.
We recognized the hush in each other,
the way wild things do.
No guide, no follower.
Just two souls walking barefoot
through poems and pauses,
through shadow and softness,
through gates no one else sees
until we open them.
With every word softened
like moss beneath the hush.
One, who walks through wildflowers,
and the other, who hides behind metaphors
so tender they bloom when spoken.
Equals.
Wild.
Unwritten.
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