She always cried when she was torn
from her mother’s breast
and as time grew
both separated again where two countries met.

Her hand:
so f t
war m
in. vite. ing

Her words only took seconds
but stretched out for the infinities within those seconds
and thus,
the words filled the girl’s head for years to follow.

(A dog may be a man’s best friend,
but a daughter is a mother’s heart.)


“Oh mamá!
Why must you go?”

Blood speckled with tears and love.
Love and sorrow:
truly two of a kind.

So far apart;
two different countries;
two different lives;
one heart that stretches between the distance
(yet a heart can only stretch so far before it is torn apart.)

She dreams of her mamá
as her distant angel
and the angel is falling
and falling
and f

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