Know Me

There exists within them

A quiet understanding of my world.

They see the concepts

That words don't exist for;

The ones that structure my existence.

They knew from the beginning

That it would take them

A very long time

To learn me.

And yet they still sit here

Connecting me;

Patiently reforming my complexities,

Weaving synapses

Between the things I already know.

Knitting me without a pattern

Because they know I don't have one,

Nor do I have the desire to predict

How they will change me.

They are tethered to me

Not with conversations and interlacing fingers

But despite them,

And instead leaning upon

The intricate language

Of mutual sentience.