alphabet soup

I never knew the stars had names,
until you wrote them in the sand
beside me, tracing every constellation
galaxy, and nebula.
I spent all night spinning them around my tongue,
tasting them until
I could smell the ocean, and you
with every syllable.

I know sometimes home is not
a word you understand, but you and I,
we were born from the sea
and the stars;
We are millennia in the making.
I promise you, my dear,
you will find your way back again.

There will be days where getting out of bed
is running a marathon, and
brushing your hair is a balancing
act.

There will be days where a locked door and the bathtub
are the only things that feel like home,
and you can’t possibly see how it will
get better.

For a long time, it may not.

That is okay.
You are okay.

—  Abigail Menschik, Fifty-Seven Steps to the Door