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Why is it that we long for things
that we cannot have?
Why is it that we hunger, we crave
for things that may damn us
into our very own graves?
And yet we know,
we must pay the fee
for an end dangling on hope ….
A smile here.
A glance then.
A whisper of a touch.
A token perhaps?
An assent?
Meanings in things done
and even in the cadence
of words unsaid, or maybe not?
And I bleed from self-inflicted cuts ….
I look at you, with your friends
talking and laughing
unmindful that I am here —
wanting and hurting.
Oh wait, but was it a trick of light?
Did you deliberately pick that chair
directly falling at my line of sight?
And did you just look at me
with a warm smile
that I … alone … could see?