I was loved

These things prove
that someone once
thought of me, that
a hand reached out
to grasp what the eye saw
with my face behind it,
my being in the back of
an eye - and as I hold
them in my hand, my
slender, finished hand, I am
grateful for the thought, the
artefact I hold proves
to me that
somewhere, sometime, by
someone, I was
thought of, I was
loved.

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