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You must hate

the way

I think about you.

constantly.

Or at least I imagine

and yet you fill my head

potently.

I miss your delicate fingers

singing to my skin

when you filled holes

with hope

that would soon need replacing.

I was tracing

your fingerprints.

you are so suddenly distant

as if we fear

each other.

because you still say

“I love you”

but we don’t talk like we used to.

and in the gap between my response

I’m wondering if you are reliant

upon me

as I am to you.

because whenever I hear you whisper

the words that burn in my eyes

I never see your face

your love is always somewhat a surprise

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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