I don't want to unravel, only unfold.
open again, becoming softer and expanding without strain, without strife or struggle.
I want to be the letter
you smooth out with your hands
the paper soft with wear, the words that were sent and chosen with delicate, nervous care.
I want to be someday mostly like spring
the way she whispers the earth awake
flowers and trees like toddlers drowsy and lazy after their naps.
I want always to unfold
the way I unfold when we tangle up at the end of the day
the way your stories do, winding softly to reveal some new corner of you
the way we didn't think twice when we set off onto this open sea.