Hollowwell

Some people are built like wintered forests—

no matter how much warmth you offer,

the cold inside them never thaws.

You pour steadiness into their shaking branches,

but the wind they fear

is the one they carry in their own ribs.

They call it reassurance,

but what they’re really asking for

is a cure for a storm

that was born long before you arrived.

And there’s a quiet ache in realizing

you can be the lantern,

the hearth,

the whole damn sunrise—

and still never reach

the place where their shadows begin.

—𝕃ℝ 🖤