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Feathers


So soft and delicate, I hold this fragile thing in my hands. Praying I don’t grip too tightly, hoping my anxious, trembling touch doesn’t drop it.

I see every floating tendril, moving gently in the breeze, tickling my palm, and my eyes alight with happiness. It brings me such joy, this beautiful representation of flight.  

I wish I could hold it close, put it in my pocket, keep it safe with me forever, but I know that would destroy it’s shape, tear apart it’s very form and it’s beauty, and that I cannot do.

So, as much as it will hurt me…

When the time comes…

I will let it go.


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