there is a girl crying at gate 15
I’m trying not to look
I wonder what she types so fervently
as she grips that tiny screen
letters of love
or having to make the right decision
or wondering what comes next
or loss
or hate
or fear
or the dog that died when she was eleven
gripping chin with hand
red creeping through veins
and that tiny tear
fought against
as lives
and stories
collect in this place
on their way to somewhere else

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