Everything is replaceable until
you willingly commit to notice
the slow, unwavering passage of time
As the whites in my hair race
to match up to those in mum’s
As papa’s wrinkles seem just
a little more pronounced
through the blurry video call
It makes itself palpable with a
nuanced, easy-to-miss tenderness
The overpowering, unfamiliar aches
my neck seems to be burdened with
The faint crow’s feet around my eyes
The black dress that begs for attention
Bitter at the sheer softness of the pyjama
Everything is replaceable until
you realise everything that’s replaceable
isn’t even worth replacing after all
and the tragedy of life is that
everything you hold closest to you
eventually slips away, and rightly so
We are, after all, a sum of everything we lose
Butterflies and Hurricanes 
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