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Fateful shadows
We wear the wind without knowing
who it belonged to before.
A coat of yesterday’s anger,
today’s kindness sewn in the lining.
Faces blur at the edges—
the barista is your brother,
the stranger at the bus stop
holds your childhood in their eyes
for just a second.
We revolve through doorways
where names change
but the silence between words
feels familiar.
One day you are the voice,
another day, the echo.
Interwoven shadows—we circle each other
Actors before a shattered mirror,
forgetting who plays whom
and whose cue it is.
There is something behind it all—
not watching,
not judging,
but weaving.
The thread runs through all of us,
and tightens
when we pull away.
--- Christopher Johnston
Copyright ©
Chris Johnston
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