Itâ€™s a slow sort of death, I think.
Iâ€™m trying to hold your particles, but my clumsy hands are too big.
Watching you erode, but not in peace.
A slow burn, a steady breath, escaping your parted lips. You look into my eyes longingly. Frantically. Panicked.
In a moment, I realize you never learned how to let the air back in.
Itâ€™s a slow sort of death, I thinkâ€¦ but we are all dying, arenâ€™t we? Couldn't we just figure out a way to do it together?
Maybe someday, in the far future, theyâ€™ll dig us up and find our bones intertwined.
Art by Dustin Hollywood
Licence : All Rights Reserved