The million ways to closures.

And now I have you unaccompanied. Here. The way it has never been.

The migrant winds don’t call your name anymore. They just leave me with bare hands and rusted rings.

But today, I have you here. Alone. And I don’t know whether to pull you off and stack all that you helped me love, away; or preserve you here, close to all that you symbolize.

It’s rigid. And stiff.

I will always be drifting. Decisions like that you can never make.

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