The Great Wall Of My Heart.

I sense you in the quiet shift—
not seen, not heard, but known.
You move like fate dressed up in mist,
pulling threads I’ve long outgrown.

If this is destiny, then let it wait.
Let me kneel in prayer,
bargain with God behind closed stars,
ask—no, beg—
for a loophole
in the plan that binds me to you.

Because you,
who once held my name like ash,
spoke it only to scatter,
who met my open hands
with mockery,
who proved, again and again,
that my breath was background noise
in your theatre of self—

you have already killed me once.

And yes,
I am stitched with mercy.
I have learned the ways of love
that do not clutch or curse.
But tell me,
how do I forget
the softness you set on fire?

No, this wall was not built in spite.
It is built in memory.
It is built in blood.
It is built in the name of my own return.

You may come, if you dare—
not as a ghost,
but with flesh,
and voice,
and truth.

But you
must climb.