Thursday, March 24, 2011

Isn't it strange the way things come about,
How change is like a tear here, a rip there?
At first you can't see the transformation
Quiet and slow it creeps up on you... different.

Little bits of yourself flutter away
Like paper confetti as you move.
Pieces of you fall away, never to be reclaimed
Leaving holes where they were.

I'm full of holes now.


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