Death of a Philosopher
Death of a Philosopher

Death of a Philosopher

Gracie Moore
I sit on the roof in skin you have never touched, feeling irreparable. You are dead, but you are also sitting in my shadow.
"What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others."
“Pericles said that.”
“You will carry my breath in your lungs even once I’m gone. You will cradle the shivering love from me inside you, till it becomes tangled in violence.”
“I am frightened of my empty hands.”
“You carry me everywhere, pooling in the corners of your eyes and latched onto your back and flooding your shadow.”
“You are heavy.”
“Everything you have to tell me crowds your mouth. It turns soft and warm with time and fills your lungs.”
“I’m drowning.”
“Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.”
“Aristotle said that… what have you done with my soul?”
He does not reply.
Grief is woven into my veins.
My soul feels torn


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