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Withering, Then Lost

  • Aiden Dearborn
  • Nov 2, 2024
  • 1 min read

Your companionship is

a withering flower.

Confined in a glass vase 

of still water, relying 

on sunlight through windows.


But that doesn't help.


The light on her skin, burning—

her once lavender self lost.

Her hands fall to the ground,

drowning in the water that I

changed— an attempt to 

salvage what was left.


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