Tethered Strings: A Fifty-Word Story

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Tethered Strings

My skin is a cocoon of smooth silk, a coffin of tethered strings burying the child I used to be.

Burn us. My ashes are his ashes. When we become dust, you can hold him in your hands again.

The winds will try to scatter us once more. Protect us.

Prompt: Child
Photo: Francesco Gallarotti
My Publications: Jeremy Mifsud

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