I spoke to someone today.
You may have met her once,
twice even.
Young, tired, with shining eyes.

She showed me past injuries,
each scar a scene from a film
made up of haunting memories.

Each pain point drew me closer,
cues to the battles she fought.
Villages crumbled in her wake,
dragons were slain, yet
wars continued waging.

It’s hard to understand, she said.
I nodded, listening.
I felt her fear,
cradling the dark in my lap
as she did in her head.

Her thoughts,
intricate and beautiful,
painted the walls,
telling a story with no ending.

She fought monsters
disguised as love,
lost friends who turned blindly away.

I kissed the scars on her arms,
her forehead, her heart.
I held her hand as she began to glow.
Warmth filled her cave,
and lightness took hold.

I swore to fight for her,
and to come back,
again and again.