I thread my griefs like beads,
Stringing them as a mala
Of impermanence, for remembrance.
Loved ones, teachers, fictional characters.
Letters etched around each one,
According to their native language.
Kind words. Harsh words. All the same.
Each lacquered by tears to seal them.
I run these through my fingers now,
As I add my breath to yours.
How long? Only this.
No beginning. No end.
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