I’ve been orbiting around your heart
for two hundred eighty-two days now.
I came across it by mistake
but kept circling around it,
even ignoring the radio
when told not to.
I fell in love with your gravity.
The way the atmosphere let me enter
without too much force.
You didn’t seem to mind.
You looked up
just to smile
and kept doing
what you were doing.
The more I circled,
the more I learned
how you change
throughout the seasons,
how, when you feel that no one is watching
you run around
and create dust storms
from one side of yourself
to the other.
No one told me
that a heart could rotate
like a planet.
But seeing is believing.
And to experience
is to become a part of.
It’s been two hundred eighty-two days
since I’ve radioed back my location
what I’ve seen,
where I’ve been.
I don’t remember
how far I am away from home.
I know
that I can make it back safely.
But at the same time,
I am tired of surviving
tired of always being looked for.
When I landed on you,
I didn’t plan to stay this long.
It’s safe to say
that I am home
here,
in the gravity
of your heart.
Regardless of the original mission,
I’ve found something real.
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