And that is how they met.
In tears.
Over old scars.
In what they knew to be theirs
and theirs alone.
A secret understanding of pain
that once tore through their fragile bones
Left them shattered
yet whole.
Forged anew from the ashes
of courage and the sheer will to live.
In what they would learn
time and time again
to be
what this world would call
Love.
But they had so many words
for this blossoming
affinity
Their love was the waxing moon.
There was so much waiting to do before
they met
for they were both scarred souls.
Each irreparably wounded
by loss
of different measure and name
but Loss, all the same.
And yet when they met
each understood instantly
Traced the paths of pain
that had once
coursed through the fragile warmth
they gather and cradle
in their endless arms
Each had feared
the other would
take offence
for some reason,
shun the old scarred body they
had well meant to hide.
Turn away
from their fragile love
burning ever so gently.
Yet
no words
were needed at all
when they met
Over their scars.
