You sat at your desk,
your spine a bare trellis
beneath a cotton sky.
I watered it
with the rain of my tears,
warmed it
with the sunlight of my eyes,
hoping that one day
courage would climb it
like a vine,
self-belief would leaf along it,
and flowers would bloom
from every vertebra—
until you stood,
no longer merely possessing a spine,
but blooming one.
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