How grateful I am
that you
invited me
into your shadow-lit
rain-soaked
forest.

I’m not one
to persist on those
who might resist
but oh, Arden,
I find your mind
mirrors mine,
so I must insist
you listen
when I tell you:

Arden,
thank you.

It often
feels like
I exist
with eyes closed,
ears eager,
skin braced,
caught inside
a soft-drift
of dormancy,
locked from myself,
unwilling to face
the aliveness
I can't help
but chase.

and Arden,
it must feel unreal
to suppose
it was anything 
you did.

but I’m afraid
you are fluent
in the comedy
that makes me
believe,
oh Arden,
that I am worthy
of a nickname
attached
to light.