Published July 30, 2015 by April Fox

And in this sorrow,

we create ourselves:

faces sketched in dull graphite, erased and drawn again

until the lines are blurred and the edges

of our eyes

are indistinct 

and the creases of our mouths

are parentheses, capturing 

all the things we never said. 

In this sorrow, we are written 

indelible and clear

we are paragraphs, connected

We are stories left to tell. 

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