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 cradle your wounds like relics, afraid that if you looked away, they would heal without you. Then, through a crack in the masonry, a single star. Then another. Soon, the whole sky follows, patient as what refuses to be undone. Something in you answers. Your hands move before thought. Your fingers find the edge of the wound, close around it, and refuse to let go.