The Pin

She asked to ‘put a pin in this’, these moments of brilliant’ whiskey sparks and secrets whispered on the sharp’ edge of mountain peaks in the rain.  Can they be bottled and left waiting on a shelf, in hopes of being knocked open again?

So with a wistful perhaps I suppose… we can.  May my pin be the starkly shining silver’ in the middle of your chest; unable to be buried in the hurried scatter’ of a life of consequence.  May my pin be anxiously run under your fingertips, in moments of uncertainty or loneliness.  May my pin be the sharp prick against your skin, to remind you that these lessons hurt, but it’s okay to let someone in.  

But most of all, may you remember me.  Not as moments of a fleeting time gone by but as road-map to to where you could be.  Where who you’re with’ could be trumped by this is it.  May you remember me.

Bump it with:

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