pick yourself off the floor, child. you are not finished.
you still have things to give, in the hollow of your mouth and under that thin skin. there is still gold upon your head and pearls within your gums. your spine still bends just so.
your ribcage has long since started blooming and you've yet petals to harvest from your spine. your heart is beating, and your lungs lay, torn, alive in the pit of you.
can't you see them move? take that breath. open that maw, and drink air from my palms. your shoulders are not worn to dust, and your feet still hold your weight.
the pillars are crumbling, dear thing. the skies are ripping at the seams. another red giant. another sunset. another layer of skin.
you were made for this. don't be silly now. straighten your back and let me wipe all this mess from your dear face. look at me, soiling myself for you. was not this handkerchief once white? however will i get that stain out?
hold on, child. you are not finished. Even torn hands can carry heavy loads. Even phantom fingers can sew.
and you were chosen. don't lay down that honour.
