Helicopter

High above, it prowls
Circling and scanning
Body thudding with a gruesome heartbeat
The propellers shred the skies
Compressing, squeezing, ripping up the clear night sky
Throwing down the heavens to cram into our eardrums
Children listen, wide-eyed, and yank their covers up to their chins
The noise becoming the backdrop of their nightmares
Parents wake to the throbbing sound and the scared whisper of their child
Above the city, the black fly buzzes
Restlessly circling, haunting, hovering.

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Extract From My Diary

“But in other ways, maybe I’ve just realised that I can love you and not have you. Maybe I love you enough to let you go. Maybe I love you enough to let you live your life and to not be jealous of your other friends; not be jealous when I see you touching strangers. I do love you, but you’re not mine, you always belonged to yourself, and me trying to contain you was wrong. Fly. Live. Be happy.
And maybe if you love me enough, you’ll come back to me.”