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Face Full of Fruits.



Mangoes and bananas packed tightly together like a family of eight trying to fit into a car for a roadtrip. A makeshift cardboard box contained it all, most overripe and spoiled. It smelled heavenly but hadn't survived the trip and rest for it to ripen.

It overdid its only job. Only one mango remained for me to eat. The person who gave it all to me told me throw the spoiled ones away. I couldn't and here's a kind of long explanation on why. 

But as addressed to the person.

Slather spoiled fruits all over my face; let me consume their goodness, even if it exists only in weakness. They're rotten black from skin to core, but because they're from you to me, I must eat it all, even if it makes me sick for days. I feel like I'm losing you slowly, so I cling to anything materialistic, even if the acids of my stomach and mind could erase it all. Stay forever, or take me with you.

It's never enough because a phone can only play your voice for so long. Your radios will only sing your favorite songs for so long. Your record player's broken down, and the person who would fix it is gone, so the record player died too. I'm scared that God will die when you do. Who will I ask to bring you back to life? Who will fix this for me? Or must I keep you alive within me?

Having you everywhere is all I'd ask for, but having you everywhere without having you at all only hurts. I see you in my smile and curls, and I want to scratch my face apart, hoping that when they put it back together, it might just look like yours. But my vision was never good, and neither was yours—cloudy vision. Will I see the world as you see it? Sometimes I don't want to.

I am grieving you before you are gone.

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