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I’m dropping comments
telling everyone how they are
beautiful, because you’re leaving
here/me and this city/I am
nothing/no one to stay for really

You’re going to go out
into this peculiar world
of ours and fall in love
with it, with someones,
you’re going to leave me

here to rot in jealousy
and it is my own fault,
I’ve let my fear of you ferment
into a grief and a lacking
of/and you will be free and I

will always know the difference
between here and there,
between you and I, and why
certain things find definition
in-between all they’ve never had:

why certainties only occur
in mere moments, colliding
only long enough to make it clear
that they’ve happened/they’ve
changed you/me,

and they’re apart of you/me (you
are a part/apart of/from me) and apart of this
world that is a prison in which
I desire/riot, in which you want
to love/wonder in search of a fullness

no place, nor I
can ever give you.
I am so sorry.