Un weaving what was badly woven

Weave
Verb
To carefully interlock pieces of fabric or items at a right angle, forming a pattern

I have come to realize that in the bigger scheme of things, you and I are abiding in each other’s lives. No matter how far apart we travel from each other, we are merely choosing the long route to reach each other. We are simply delaying the gratification of being in each other’s arms, we are gathering, wildly and with both ease and intensity the experience that will have us finding that we are good enough for each- we are not good people, perhaps that’s what draws one to the other-the lycan and the hulijin; myth and magic. It would be remiss to reiterate respectfully and resoundingly that you were a happenstance.. A moment in time that I stumbled upon, a moment that at first defied logic, but then wove itself delicately into the fabric of my understanding that it was the only thing that made sense, rendering all forms of knowledge chaotic.
Now I do not write poems like I used to, instead I tell stories, bending metaphors and stretching euphemisms like a skilled alchemist. I unweave a word until it becomes all that’s splattered across pages. You.
You did this to me. Believe me I am not complaining at how you pontificated into my heart-it seems all too calculated from your side for me to perceive it as just luck.
It just cannot. The intensity of what you have given me changed my prior ill-conceived definition of love.
You invited me to sacred table of honor with your ancestors, calling me your true and final love. I wept.
I felt myself becoming a whole.
All those times when you said you were praying for my healing, it took a while for someone like me to understand. I always expected God to look like blinding light and sound like lightning
Little did I know here she was, a woman who gives sight, who’s touch is tender and life giving
I don’t write poems.
Perhaps I don’t really write stories.
I merely speak, and I come to be.