28 May

I tend to take a longer glance
At old people when they walk past
Often with their hunched back
And I wonder sometimes
If they wished they could stand straighter or whether it ached
The now curved spine had once held so much stories stored deeply into each marrow
Perhaps it got heavier
Too heavy to bear
Then I glance at their faces
Searching for their younger self
Any signs of past beauty

She was the lady
who kissed her husband’s forehead every morning for twenty years
until about a week ago.
She didn’t understand why
God had taken him away so fast without them leaving to
the greater side together

He was once quite the rebel.
A butterfly tattoo inked on his forearm permanent image
never being erased
“Her name was J. What a beautiful soul.”
Her delicate fingers he often held
Those brown eyes he seen so many time yet he could fall in love with it over and over and over again
The forehead he often kissed so tenderly every night
Butterflies were her favorite insects
“They fly so freely.” She once whispered
She was like a broken soul
Waiting to be loved
He was there

Everyday I read a new story


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