Written by Andrew Pettigrew
What is love?
To me, it’s the hand that touches mine,
that traces invisible letters,
etching light into my palm—
a language of silence, without sight,
creating a pocket of air
in a burning world
that shields me from its noise
and flame and rage.
In the inferno your hand is all I have—
light for my lightless eyes, guiding me
through smoke and ash and dizzying heat,
constant even as the ground gives way
and others abandon me for who I am.
You let me breathe and smile and be,
your signing the reason I don’t need to see,
your fingers a cradle, your touch a balm,
and that’s
all the love I need.
Text © Andrew Pettigrew
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