"I love him."
We know.
But I choose the path that splits at the end,
like the bottoms of my blond strands
that flail to the middle of my back.
"This is hard."
We know.
And waving a white flag is impossible
like a ship without a sail
that continues in circles.
"I am sad."
Oh we know.
So I converse with my shadow,
like a pastor in a graveyard whispering to headstones
sentences no one cares to hear.
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