Aerden (aerden) wrote,
Aerden
aerden

  • Mood:

"Plumeria"

I do not feel 40 years old tonight; I feel age 12--
Frightened, confused, distressed,
Wailing at loss, frantic not to let go
Of someone fondly regarded.
At least, not without knowing why I must.

Days stretch into emptiness.
The calling voice echoes itself back.
I don't know what to do, what to repair,
Or even if it was I who broke it.

You can hold a dead plumeria in your hand
For only so long.
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