Mneme

You stayed. Pressed your spine against the stone and let the darkness learn your shape. Years passed before you knew they were years. You cradled wounds like relics, afraid they would heal without you. Then, through a crack in the masonry, a single star. Then another. Soon the whole sky pours through, patient as what will not be undone. Your hands again – before thought, before sight. Fingers find the edge of the wound, close around it, and refuse to let go.