Clinging on by a thread to my shoulder’s edge,
Pushing against my side, nudging persistently.
At one time each crease whispered of a beaming smile stretching to the sun, pistachios, and cobblestones paving the streets of Italy. That paved a way into my heart.
Now the purse is worn and tired. Slowly and undeniably the stitching separates, loosens, unties.
It sags, heavy though it holds nothing but air. Nothing but air. Do you see?
The purse you gave me has seen the world. Now it seeks the ever evasive stream of memories and echoing laughter just beyond its reach.
Every now and then it catches two staring brown eyes blinking in its direction. Only to see them turn distractedly leaving a trail of dust particles swirling, sighing, scattering onto it's bare dull green skin.
