I, too, commit the same
mistake. I fear being alone
as though i was born with
you from my mother's
womb
as though i was conceived
in the the pronoun We
as though the crib was a
market with lots of people
roaming in there
we are not us. I am i. And
will always be in its solo flight
from what i am to what i will be.
For the meantime, there is
this marketplace, this mall,
this house, this home, but
at the end, there is always
this silence, that of a leaf
and the pond without a
single ripple....then a hush.
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