After Everything I write this with an unease, it disturbs the words and greys the feelings In the noise - I remember: (1) My hand hesitant and unbelonging, sinking in the Green suede of your living room – a non-place for both you and I We drown in the candlelight (2) The light - dancing in the reflections of your eyes –creating a film of our alternate reality in time, shifting the weight of our separate lives around the room – how I wish we could go back (3) The space - between our knees as it dips, deeper Lower beneath our bodies, desperately seeking a home never to be found, never to be tasted, always amiss Our bodies seek nevertheless (4) The salt. on my lips as I try to translate, to undo our broken stories and rewrite them as one - had we met before everything – when all was unknowing and free (5) Your hands searching through the stars on my skin, delving into its reservoirs, wishing they could bring forth some comfort, some answers, a space for a life where this can be. But after everything, how can this be? After the wars our lives have brought, the storms in the days and the howls of the crimson nights – the streets cloaked in purple, the silences in between. After everything, how can our bodies find a home in two separate worlds, worlds apart – how can anything be found – rummaging through a language of memory and pasts gone A language doused in impurity and fear afraid to come forth and speak life into a possibility torn by circumstance and tradition. After everything, my love We speak of cultural legacies and their power over us how bittersweet it is to resist them, if only for a while If only for now, for as long as the candle will burn in this space that does not belong but between our bodies, I am yours And tradition has no say in it.