Yes, you’re here in flesh, breathing.

Yes, you look at me and smile.

Yes, you hug me and we talk about our day.

Everything looks perfect until

you ask the questions that made my soul

come out and cup my face and frantically

collect the salty tears with its wispy, trembling hands.

“What’s your name?”

Oh, the memories that wrapped us like

a snug cocoon died too soon. Threads of silk that

intertwined to keep us together burned to ash. Emerged

not a beautiful butterfly but an ugly moth

that fed on the past, people, and things.

“Who are you?”