The first thing I gave her
was a little porcelain doll,
an angel for the palm of her hand.
She loved porcelain,
had a bookshelf filled with it,
anxiously awaiting the devastating
earthquake.
She never told me why,
I thought she felt like porcelain,
beautiful, pale, and terribly fragile.
On the last night,
we got into an argument,
and I bumped into the shelf.
Only one fell,
just the little porcelain angel,
its stiff wings unable to break the
fall.
-Zero
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