Could be lovely

Holding it like it was my last
Squeezing it tighter than my mother’s hand
Could be cut like the silent tension in a room

My face could be burrowed into the endless void of memories
Was my brother’s before me, and belonged to a shop before him
As I went undercover to my secret world, somewhere that was beyond reality

Holding the soft woven strings that covers me in silk
Squeezing the childhood out of it that gave me my life
Could be held like a fringe of a bird, so gentle and pure

Remembering the darkness hid a bogey man waiting to come out
Realising that I wasn’t truly afraid of the dark, only being without it
As I wasn’t afraid of what the darkness held, but afraid of what it hides

Holding the flannelled holes that gave me warmth
Squeezing it so I didn’t have to let go, wanting it to send me to sleep
Could be pasted on like that necklace your grandmother gave you

Stories my mother has told me while I was holding her hand that no one else knows
Places it has felt, felt the silence though hasn’t experienced it fully
Secrets I told it that no one else had the time to appreciate while embracing like never before

Could be loved like was
Could be loved, like I loved it