My new friend laughs,
The first one brief but warm, an
invitation
that waits like quickened silver, a sheen
matching the fur that rolls over flesh with
each step.
My new friend volleys,
Words that invite not conversation but connection,
Bonds, not obligation but links,
A chain that stretched across years and miles
and choices and songs,
and I return.
My new friend shares,
Not in terms but in dreams,
Not in techniques but with mirrors,
His pain a twin to mine,
Different in form,
Same as my own.
My new friend lives,
a life touched by the horrors of loss,
of eigenforms broken and reformed,
his own recovery a mirror held up to others,
and they see not despair,
but hope.
My new friend opens a space,
For joy to find root,
For love to take hold,
For games.
For me.
For us.
— Remy