7 years
a poem
it takes 7 years for a human body to regenerate its cells / 7 years until I will have parts of me you have never touched / I will become something you have never held / at least my body will / but neurons never change / real love never stops / wherever I run to / whoever I run to / the imprint of you on me remains / I will not know your hands and you will not know my hands / but I will always know what it felt like to hold them / what it felt like to be briefly entangled in this universe of space and time / how you made time stop and space fall away / how we became one against all odds / against all science / against all sanity.
This feels like an elegy for a love that ended but never truly disappeared. It asks what remains when touch is gone, and answers: memory, muscle, and the impossible tenderness of having once been known.🤍