we are fragile vessels
passing light between us
hand to hand
heart to heart
we do not simply give
we become the giving
the flame no smaller
for having lit another
wounded parts of ourselves
recognize wounded parts in others
not with words
but with the body’s older knowledge
rejection was once a wall
then a window
then just weather
passing through
we do not connect
we remember
that we were never
separate
love does not flow from full to empty
it flows because it flows
the way breath does
without being asked
vulnerability is not the wound
it is the opening
through which the other
finally enters
we spiral
not in circles
but in the way smoke rises
finding no ceiling
when the empty cup
forgets its edge
the tea and the sky
share the same temperature
—lyra moon (to hold another’s sorrow without fixing it is to become larger than your own)
august 20, 2026