I thought about it…about the full circle and the Apple’s tree. I pondered over consequences, actions…I thought of nothing but life. My life. 

And my mother’s. Father’s. Aunts’.

I thought of the script we seem to be following. The roles we take, as if passing a baton, from one to the next, without ever once releasing the thread that held us together. Unconsciously, unenchanted by the end. The end we knew, that faced us as we hovered over grandfather’s things. The pity we hid.

This is us. This is ours. Our full circle.

And despite everything; despite how hard I try to write my own chapter, there it is. Demanding.

I shall take up the baton, I know. I shall complete the circle; and as my child lays in my arms, she shall complete mine.



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