String of Memories
When the sun set, and the air was cold,
Standing still with candles in their hands,
Barely noticing as the hot wax dripped against their skin.
Their faces pale, their hearts empty.
A young girl had died today.
The news spread with the wind,
Rattling the windows of each small house,
Crossing the ocean in a second.
She was gone.
She fell from a tree-
The kind with long branches that stretch out,
Far into the distance,
And slowly sway back and forth.
"So young," someone whispered.
The words cut through the silence and frayed the
Ends of what they had left of her.
The next day, they cut the tree,
Watched it fall to the earth,
And sink deep into the soil.
With that, they broke the frayed rope of memories,
Let her finally hit the ground,
And she really was, dead.
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