quarter year

We traded glass shards,
That morphed into a chrysallis.
Nestled in the warmth of our solitude and solidarity,
Independence and solitude were foreign entities together
But now, it is just,
Independence- alone.

Peel back the layers,
Unravel the edges
We are the thinnest threads intertwined-
Cotton whisps folded around each other.

But, like an old branch left to sow its own seeds,
Maybe, growth is a measure of our hearts beating in synchrony.
Loud enough to rattle the empty hallways once we say goodbye-
Praying fervently that we will be remembered.

Chambers, and hollowed out- after,
We’ve held our insides, long enough,
To lay them bear before each other.
They cannot steal the years that have been well spent.

Clasp the edges and press them in gently,
Gold against silver,
Please, hold us together.
Soften us to ash,
Soft enough to slip through our fingers.

Like the butterfly that was meant to leave tomorrow,
But has been cupped in a tar stained hand. And instructed , ‘Breathe. You will feel better.’

New sensations billow into her lungs.
She draws in a slow breath,
Staring, wide and teary eyed-
And the film of old negatives

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