his thoughts twist like rivers,
carving paths no one else would walk.
at first, i only followed out of wonder,
curious how someone could think in stars
instead of steps.

now, i read him like a second language.
not native, but fluent.
and every word still catches the light,
like something holy.

he tells me he doesn’t belong,
but maybe he was never meant
to fit the world.
maybe he was built
to fit me.