Pastel, graphite, Irish linen thread sewn onto wood panel
14 x 14
a flower knows, when its butterfly will return,
and if the moon walks out, the sky will understand;
but now it hurts, to watch you leave so soon,
when I don’t know, if you will ever come back.
― Sanober Khan
I stumbled upon this poem about a year ago while visiting my sister in Connecticut. It touched me deeply, its words continue to haunt me. My sister is declining. She sustained a brain injury about 10 years ago, leaving remnants of her old self. Through the passage of time and the cruelty of fate, she is no longer the vibrant person she had been. I have watched her leave an imposter in her stead.