Take a look at this photo It’s me and you Side-by-side Shouldering the weight of a new atmosphere too big to feel and us: four years into sinking under its crushing force And perceiving only each other as the cornerstone of existence

Today, you cut your finger on the edge of a book, and a piece of that picture leaked out of your thumb: snot-nosed, mouth wide, and eyes terrified by the sight of the world. She became a stain on the couch, a permanent mark of childhood.

When you wrapped a band aid around the wound, there was a flash of pain around your mouth. The wince etched into your cheeks became a familiar portrait. She was round with gentle care and spoiled by the moon. Caressed Gently each night by some familiar hand and cradled in the bosom of innocence.

But she slipped away as quickly as she came. And the light poured in through Your eyes—once yours, now replaced with the lens of some bigger figure. A high and mighty man whose voice never trembles. A trombone That condemns fear. Some shard from the viewing glass our old man left behind.

And so we move, slowly. Patching ourselves with the remnants around us. Tea bags for gashes and sunlight for bruised feet. Taking a piece of the world and shedding away that photograph beneath an imperfect gauze; I’ll take your loose tooth and force it into an open pocket inside my gums,

Even if my body rejects it. I take my souvenirs seriously.

It’s natural. To lose that picture of ourselves each time the earth pinches us too tight—and to stop the leak with some loose end. Undoing and becoming. Stuffing the scarecrow. Embracing the wind. Knowing every hair lost is a light gained

A light which casts darker shadows behind trinkets we gather below our pumping hearts