Those Who Are Whole

Tell me—
where are those who are whole?

Those whose bodies have not learned
the sharp grammar of love.

Whose hearts move through the days
without the sudden fracture
of grief.

Do such beings exist?

I try to imagine them.

Their eyes would be clear
like water before wind.

Their steps light,
untouched by hesitation.

Nothing broken within them
calling out for repair.

But where would they live?

Not here.

For on this earth
every brightness carries its shadow.

Every face—
however radiant—

has turned away at night
to weep.

We have all passed
the place where something was lost.

We have all heard
the quiet closing
of a gate behind us.

And yet—

it is precisely here
in the wound

that something begins.

A deeper flame.

A patience the stars themselves
might envy.

Do not envy those
who have never suffered.

Their light is thin.

But the heart that has broken
and still rises

burns with a different fire.

It is darker.

It is stronger.

And it belongs to this world.