We end ourselves up in bottles in our youth. Capsule our words and swallow them like pills. They become the fabric of our skin. Sometimes cancerous to us. Sometimes, a part of us so difficult to dispose and to clean out of our system...but accepted.
What is a leaf to a tree? The same way a hair strand is to the head. They change colour and shed in time...they leave.
Revealing what is withered and wrinkled when winter begins.
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