the one that got away

It hurts.

It hurts like a broken bone,

a broken wing

tucked under the shivering body

of a baby bird that believed

it could fly.

From so high,

gravity seemed a distance worry

to those who actually cared

about the future.

And why care,

when the present is so sweet.

Your hands combing through my hair,

strumming my strands like an abandoned guitar

playing some music as an attempt to be

peaceful, like how our heart beat.

Mine, once pounding,

is but a resounding echo in this place.

I let my heavy eyelids close,

and you slip back into the translucency of my dreams.

The dreams in which

when we picked up the broken baby bird

from the sidewalk,

I stood on your shoulders and together

we gingerly returned it to its nest,

to its bed.

It hurts.

Of course it does.

It's the same kind of pain knowing I couldn't save

that little life,

for it was too bold, and a little less wise.

It hurts in the same way

knowing some things are broken,

and others are dead.

And though I can't breathe life into dust,

at least I can say I tried.

I tried so hard.

The End

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