Two Furrowed Letters

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They are the only ones who listen to me. I am the only one who listens to them. Two furrowed letters with burning words and creased edges. Two amongst the other less significant drafts. Two buried in my pocket to keep me sane. From the bottom, my heart can feel their pull, but my mind tells me otherwise.

Their power is hidden. They send subtle threats by means of concern. They rip and tear through the fabric eventually tearing the skin, never to release their urgency. This is how they love.

Let one forget her reason for being, they’d thrash even more, burning against the skin of my leg with that same concern. Listen, listen, listen they scream when I’m gone. They comfort.

When I am too down and lost to listen, when it’s me against the world, it is then I unfold them again. When there is no place left to turn. Two who keep on despite the battles. Two who burn and remind me to listen. Two who’s only reason is to love.





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