The trauma said, ‘Don’t write these poems. Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.

This is my body. It is no one's but mine.

How many wars will it take us to learn that only the dead return?

and I wonder if Beethoven held his breath the first time his fingers touched the keys the same way a soldier holds his breath the first time his finger clicks the trigger. We all have different reasons for forgetting to breathe.

I write because it is while I'm writing that I feel most connected to why we're here. I write because silence is a heavy weight to carry. I write to remember. I write to heal. I write to let the air in. I write as a practice of listening.

I am living today as someone I had not yet become yesterday and tonight I will borrow only pieces of who I am today to carry with me to tomorrow.

That night when you kissed me, I left a poem in your mouth, and you can hear some of the lines every time you breathe out.