She is crocheted into the fabric of my life
a thousand threads of time
some recent, some long past.
Contrasting or blending
with the subtle colors of passing time
forming a unique pattern of memories.
How she touched my heart with gentle fingers
when I was too preoccupied
to see the softness
beneath the brittle mask
She wore to protect her soul.
It's too late, now
To push it aside
And kiss her face one more time.
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