For the Hearts that Believe Themselves Alone


Stop looking for Me, pinned to a wooden cross

at the end of a dank, cavernous sanctuary.

This is not an empty cave; it is a warm tent, filled with light.

And I am not some silent, dead butterfly on display, impaled on a piece of wood

Majestic, cold, inanimate, pierced.


Look for Me beside you in the pew.

Look for My hand to reach across the space between us and clutch yours.

Not because I have to. But because I want you.

I am enamored with you.


Look for Me, looking at you

Because I’ve never seen anything so magnificent, so soul-churning, so beautiful as you and I created EVERYTHING.


Look for Me to hold you in the rolling pitch of night

When the weight of the day holds your head under salty waves

Until your lungs burn and you clamor for one peaceful breath.

Reach your hand out in the dark. I am here. I will hold you. I silence waves.


Look for Me when no one else will meet your gaze.

When you feel you are a bleached piece of driftwood floating in a boundless sea.

I will look into your eyes.

Mine who have seen the creation of galaxies.

Mine will search for the flecks of blue, grey, amber that I placed in yours.

I want to know you, and to be known by you. Completely.


Heart that feels alone…

Look for Me beside you in the warm tent.

I’m no longer pinned to a piece of wood.

Samantha Bossalini