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You. Me.

You. Me.
I wonder how long what we had
can bridge the continent between us.
It can’t be long now before our memories
get sidetracked somewhere among
the bustling marketplaces of Istanbul
and can’t find their way back home again.
I’m beginning to think
perhaps, I was mistaken.
Was there ever a we?
Or was there ever only a you,
And then a very distinctly separate, and sole,
me.
I wonder how strongly elementary school bonds are formed;
I’d like to know their shelf-life,
because I fear our connection is decaying
in a dusty jar,
on a lonely shelf,
somewhere back in the locked supply closet
of our middle school science classroom.
And I’m a ghost walking the halls,
footsteps echoing against green paint chipped lockers.
I’ve looked in every classroom
but I just can’t seem to find
our key.



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