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  • I cried at a wedding. Again. Not when the bride appeared at the top of the aisle, not at the sweetness of their vows, their kiss; later, when asked simple, leading, probing questions while everyone else danced. Questions that reminded me of you.

    Not that it's really about you (though you'd insist it was, if you knew). It's about the way I am when I'm with you, the who / I am / when I'm / with you. Which is not you.

    And now I'm thinking in verse again.

    It's not really about you, but I cried at this wedding and took your art down off the wall, again. And maybe it'll be another ten years before I hear from you again, again.
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