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  • “Sometimes we don’t have to let go, but we just have to go.” –Anonymous

    Words mean everything.
    I have dug my fingers into my chest.
    Left my heart marinating on the kitchen table.
    I’m inviting an angel over for dinner.

    Angels find us in the dirt and brush us off,
    clean us up and, just when they think
    we have grown wings, and just
    as quickly as they swallow
    the organs on the table, they depart.

    Wings are always invisible,
    but as soon as the angel leaves,
    she returns. After all, a friend is a friend, and
    angels fly for reasons no one knows.

    So here I am.
    Not letting go, but going.
    Going with the pain, going with the feeling
    that my gut can only take so much more rotting.
    Dinner can only marinate for so long before
    the blood takes away the taste of love.

    The angel eats too much, taking my heart
    and my years. I’ll willingly extract another organ,
    and leave it to soak for her appetite.
    That meal will be my heart’s faith, for her.
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