(Written a while back to a friend after she shared a part of herself with everyone. It’s very simple and thinking about it, it might sound a bit silly. But posting it here is probably mainly for documentation purposes.)

The tiny frail hands tick on 

From lines to a number, From ticking to a song

But who is to say that you took too long 

All of our hearts beat different

From rhythms to orchestra scores, From patterns to blood-lined lace

We are gifts planted – here – to find our place 

Emotions come and go

From spoken words to the unsaid, From love to unearthed fears

Life will always have its laughter and its tears 

Your story is yours to tell 

From memories to current affairs, From thoughts to beautiful dreams 

Only you can coax the voice out of the heart’s unguarded seams 

The tiny frail hands will tick on 

From January to December, From the first day to the last 

But our open arms will always be here; Love will never come to pass. 


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