lux — a companion piece to nox

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i was never meant to touch you.

only to witness.

to illuminate the edges of your sorrow

without asking it to leave.

they call me salvation.

but i never wanted to save you.

i wanted to see you —

in your cathedral of bone and silence,

where no hymns are sung,

only swallowed.

i have hovered near your breathless hours,

the ones stitched in that violet hush

between regret and sleep.

i have watched you break so beautifully

that even angels would have turned away.

you think i am kindness.

but no — i am clarity.

i expose,

i do not heal.

i am the gold lining your wounds,

not the hand that closes them.

you do not plead.

you consume.

but still —

you keep a space carved for me

in the hollow of your spine.

you never say it.

but i see it:

you ache for me too.

we orbit each other,

you and i —

two names on the same breath,

spoken in different weather.

i am what you once believed in.

you are what i will never stop reaching for.

if i burn,

it is only to prove you exist.

If i shine,

it is only to reflect what you hide.

they think i win.

but i lose every night —

to you.

and still,

i return.

— Lux