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In 100, by Nora on December 6, 2021 at 12:21 pm

Hold my head. Not pounding, maybe throbbing, maybe just tender. Hold my weight. Let it sink, into the earth, into arms, the body behind curving to mine. Losing, constantly. Falling. Uncapturable moment. Moment of infinity, holding everything important and nothing at all.

the hands i want are feeble now, less connected to the sturdy brain, the cognitive tissues that made the hands someone’s, hers, are frayed and glutted and glassy and milky-plaqued.

sleeping is a refuge that exists now, if only i could access that sweet nothingness that i’ve sometimes captured. i just need someone’s hands to hold my head.

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