Slippery and smooth,
as it slides between,
my bony fingers.
Edges line up as,
it slowly shrinks,
leaving me with an,
unrecognizable form.
A repetitive process.
And those days pass by,
as the sun casts shadows of the present,
my fingers weave and fold,
through the patterned sheets.
I am a creator,
stringing hope on thin lines,
to believe in
truth and humanity.
I hang them all,
watching them spiral and
wave back and forth.
Effort fills their lungs
keeping them afloat as,
we defy gravity.
Memories are my future and they
are my forever past.
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