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at this point,
there isn’t much left to say.

not anymore.

because words can be twisted,
and there’s a lifetime’s worth of conversation
we’ve yet to have.

and, now, there’s not enough time,
enough chocolate,
enough tissues,
to get through it all.

and i’m not quite sure as to how to proceed.

but is this enough?

a few lines,
telling you what i regret
about our relationship,
or lack thereof?

i suppose not.

you found me,
shattered on the floor
of our parents’ house;
found me when i did not want,
nor deserve,

and you carried me home again.

i think that, now,
i’m starting to understand why.

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