The love in your hands

I touched your palm, touched before by the sun and the rain. I touched your palm, roughened by weather, falling apart at the edges. I touched forgotten love in your finger tips, I heard laughter from decades ago lingering in them. I saw beauty in the space between your eyes… beauty that time stole from you.Your spirit smelled like patches of dried sunshine that once touched your cheeks, like autumn leaves turning their last shade of brown before falling face-first onto the ground. I touched love in your outstretched palm; secured between the pages of your life, pressed like a dead flower… Withered; but beautiful still. You were made of lost battles and shattered dreams you chased before the cold and rain broke through the home you had made out of yourself. Your skin felt like nothing I have felt before, cuts and bruises which bled of love that you couldn’t hold within yourself. Your held your heart in your hands, pushing it out into the word in exchange for a tetri or two, and they stared at your palm, looked away as though love never scarred so deep. And with the loudest voice in your head you screamed for them to look back. They were too caught up with the world and its hate to notice that love comes free.


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