Key

It wasn’t iron,

nor brass,

nor skeleton-jawed steel

that turned forgotten rusted locks.

It was stardust,

forged by time,

tempered in the hush

between heartbeat and breath.

You held it

like a secret,

tender as lichen

growing between the cracks

of ancient tree bark.

No lock clicked,

no bolt gave way,

but something within me

unfolded.

A garden I forgot I planted

bloomed where shame once rooted.

A conservatory I’d bricked shut

opened into sky.

You didn’t ask what was inside.

You didn’t need to.

You were the key-

the treasure manifested

neither in jewels, nor gold.

Rather

it shimmered in pools of un-spilled tears,

it sparkled with the faceted edges of laughter,

it gleamed in truths too sacred

for sound.

And still,

you turned softly in my soul

and let the light back in.

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