There were the ones that broke my heart-
The ones that teased it, poked it, prodded it.
The ones who ran away, hacking off pieces of it
As souvenirs.
Then there were the ones who cupped it in their hands-
Stroked it, molded it, held it to their lips
And breathed new life into it.
It may be scarred and weathered
By time and the hands of those
Who came before this moment
But it is mine.
photo by This Too Shall Pass Photography
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