Pant

She was there.
Waiting for me.
Without knowing it.
Making strides through the dark.
Expertly. Silently. Crafting the mold.
From the cloth we would share.

There I was.
Thrashing blindly in the night.
Against what seemed unfair.
But was only the ricochet.
Of a life once lived too boldly.

When away went a spider.
Replaced by a scalpel.
That would let us cut chapters.
Clean out, like cancers.

There we were.

Here we are.
Now groping at the other's face.
To confirm what seems unlikely.
Still in the black.
But seeing a vision.
That others ignored.
Mercilessly. Thankfully.

Now no one flick the switch.