my skin fell in love with you first.

months of daily visits and watering her veins,

she grows soft under your touch.

she smiles, accepts.

this is enough, she says, it is enough.


when the East Wind extended its stay and

manifested itself as a snowflake

that kissed her cheeks,

you held her hand, felt her warmth

only to see him seep into her bones,

make her his home the way you never belonged.


she tells you that this is love - the way he seamlessly becomes a part of her.

you tell her that her cheeks are too cold to touch.

she tells you she’s fire incarnate, burning warmth ignited deep in her soul.

she tells you this is love - the way she feels hot and cold at the same time.


you see, my skin has been alone for far too long.

all her life, she was cornered as sensitive,

hurt by the harsh sun, the wild air -

any attention is better than none.


in time,

when her insides start to scorch and mar her bones,

when her veins are cracked and dry because he took and took,

know that she will come running back to you

once she swallows her shame.


it’s your choice to help her heal.

it’s your choice to let her be.

just tell yourself:

you are not how this story ends.

a tentative touch,

a deliberate choice to stay,

a furtive thought if you made the right choice.


when the East Wind finally leaves,

when the sun comes up and she herself heals,

you may be lucky enough to hold her,

she may be lucky enough to be held by you,

and you will say to yourself, this is enough.