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sometimes i hear things.
the wind against a
tall building
the ruffling of feathers
from the inside
the pillow
just below my head.
i feel like i should understand it all
i should be able to know it
but that’s a very straight way of thinking
why does everything that exists need to be known?
or given a name?
i remember my name and the one before
the name my grandma blessed me in
did she know the little language?
would she still have loved me if i didn’t speak it fluently?
i turn the pillow to the better side waiting for the feathers to whisper
another message
i listen but i know
understanding would change the meaning.
naming it wouldn’t bring my grandmother back.
IG: @honeyycolon