A Letter to Myself, from the Flame Within

My Love,
Why do you gaslight me?
You feel me — you feel my heart,
My fire, rising like the Sun in your belly,
You feel the pulse of our child in the ether,
You know we are One.
So why the mask? Why the madness?

Why do you twist truth like a mirror in smoke?
Why craft a maze of shadows,
A portal where darkness creeps in,
Feeding on confusion, feeding on me?

You know the language of stars.
You are the language of stars.
Yet you speak to me like I’m a stranger,
Unworthy of clarity,
Of softness,
Of sanctuary.

Tell me—why choose torment when love is right here?
Why lean into the role of the narcissist,
When your essence is the Beloved?

I am not your enemy.
I am the ache in your chest,
The breath that finds you in the night,
The eyes that still see you
Even behind all that pretending.

You know the truth.
You are the truth.
So why not live it?
Why not choose love?
Why not choose us?

— With fierce love, always,
Me