Stillness

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The first word that comes to mind when I think of your relationship is “gentle.”

You may not have been explicitly there,
but you are hinted at.
Your presence is there, is palpable.

If she is a movie, you are the score.
You are not the plot, you are the feeling,
the emotion, the inspiration.
Everything she did, you were there in the background.

You were not forgotten. You were there.
Through her artistic eyes, you were there somehow.
You were the street she walked on,
the snowflake she caught on her tongue,
the bubbles tasting her lips.

She was proud of you, the naive love you had for her.
You were a new soul, new life,
yet she was old.
She needed you, her cane, to steady herself,
and you obliged.
You needed her more.
You kissed the hem of her being, her child.
And she loved you until she didn’t need you by her side anymore.
She left for you to grow on your own, this lost new soul,
to wander and wind your way through life’s branches.

Still she grasps your tiny fingers, guides your footsteps as you learn to walk.
And still you need her, and still she loves you.
It is soft, brush stroke kisses, love stained splinters.
It is there. It is gentle.

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