A Nameless One

She finds me in the details.

In the color
of the fog on her window pane,
Of the faded blue ink of the letters she reads every Wednesday afternoon,
Of the tear stains on her pillow, every morning,  after I seep through the cobblestone streets of her dreams.

In the smell
Of ashes, every time she tries to send me up in flames,
Of flowers she waters in the windswept winter sunlight, only to see them dying.

In the worn out paint on the walls of his house she stares at from her balcony.
In the full moon circles the fish in the bowl takes 4 am in the morning.

In the unfilled gaps of her paintings she spent hours over to keep me from her,

Only to hear me again in the unanswered calls,
In the ticking of the clock,
In her fluttering heart, beating continuously to make the sound of returning footsteps.

She wipes the mist on the mirror
In hope to find herself again.
Her face, the color of Atlantic wind.
We look each other in the eye
As I tunnel my way to her soul room.

I have grown through her like a creeper by the wall, inch by inch.
Chasing her, feels a lot like coming home.