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It begins with a whisper
that soft hello touching your shoulder
tiny blonde hair in attention
as if God Himself says, "Come,
my beloved, light up."
Slowly while the sky shifts
to a year freshly plucked
from the strands of time,
from fate's wrinkled hands,
quietly drenched in tears
that measure all oceans
of this world, she turns
with the air around her,
light as feather.
In that moment, the room squeals
after a click that sets
gears to spin, making sure seconds
are counted because you know when
She looks at you--
fireworks.
Pushing you
to fall into circles
upon circles
smaller each time,
as if ending with a dot--but
Before truth, you slip
and form two different names
at the tip of your tongue
waiting to come out, define
the face after the curtain
of hair rests
Finally.
Happy new year,
.
- Kumiko Mae, a Beauty Blogger from the Philippines
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