Pull here she said.
A little chord, so deep.
And unravelled the great divide.
Pulling down the curtains, the illusions.
What was before, now gone. Faded into time.
She smiled, with a small frustration remaining in her eyes.
Of why it took so long.
All around the walls of the world fell.
No sound but the wind of change blowing through these bones.
Hollowed and weak from the weight of such a world upon them for so long.
Bare she had found us, no clothes, shawl or patience left.
Yet she gave us her hand, and asked us to pull the chord.
That little red twine of hope that dangled from another universe.
She was, after all, another version of ourselves.
Similar yet so different.
Her smiles were genuine.
Generic by such judgement that we cast into the voids of space.
And now she said, make haste.
And burn what lies upon the floor of the galaxy.
Tomorrow beckons, the dust must remain.
So we tugged at the chord, and held our breath.
Through veils, hoods, and blindfolds.
Refusing, at times, to know any different.
And then the souls gave way, falling free to something beautiful.
A painted landscape tied up in selflessness.
Her gift to us, wet with the dew of time.
Wrapped up and contained on our fingertips.
All we needed to do, was unravel and believe.
For to see is to believe.
And our eyes will not betray us again.