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Monday, April 22

A return.

our fingers
in a row

like so many memories
but not forgotten


there are three kinds of goodbyes:
one- the distracted, taken for granted, 'i will most certainly see you later' kind
two- the savored, seductive, sits in your mouth with a bittersweet tang that, when bitten, reveals an opportunity to later say, 'hello' kind
three- the true kind, the hard kind, the closing of a door or a casket kind, the followed by crying alone in your car kind, driving down deserted roads kind, the one that really means what it says kind, the kind that burns, so deep, in your mind kind. the kind that hurts and hurts and hurts kind.


she returned
like a ghost
to crisp sheets
clean carpet
closed windows

stood wavering
like a ghost
in the door frame

moved silently
like a ghost
through memories
that she had lived and relived
over and over

until she fell
like a ghost
into a fragile slice of time
between day and night
a fragile piece of mind
between certainty and doubt

without making a sound



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