a little poem found in Henry’s notes app, sometime after the rio olympics
why must I spend so much of my soul scrambling to hold together the thinnest threads of my own reality
my labored survival
my pretended serenity
when it costs him so little to craft his elaborate tapestries
that his eyes still glint while his fingers whirl
and he’ll stitch your name right in just to savor the catch in your breath?
-H
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