i stopped writing about you

when it became the amusing


for living a life

where things went right. 

where things went right:

i had hoped 

to dream

something achievable,

then i realized

I could do it all

so the weight became too great. 

worlds aren’t meant to bridge shoulder blades. 

now kept on a folded


organized and confined by limitations

of adult written language

but blossoming

from the fertilization 


(that me, with you,

needed to die). 


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