sharing history soup with a friend

In our lunchroom noon whisperings

we found the why

to the question of when

exactly the seeking out of our pieces took form.

From the shadow versions of us delicate and branched into splinters.

And how the day gave up hope leaving us to our own incarnations.

Because you couldn't escape yours

And I was ripped from mine.

And this is the slow and orbital way we attach and detach…

With our halos on our feet, aimed to inspire.