it’s alright,
she says.

she is holding him
and he is:
her little boy,
scraped knee
her young lover,
come undone
her betrayer,
come home
her teacher,
too close standing.

in her head,
(and he is):
the best friend,
once platonic
the big brother,
almost grown-up
the soldier,
walking wounded
the general,
needing orders.

this is her magic
no wand, no spellbook
just instinctive incarnation
of a desperately desired reflection.

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