girl i never had,
almost always i am over you, the dream of you, the sweetness of that dream and the sorrow of being cleft like some lightning-struck tree by the occurrence of you within me.
but sometimes i get over you by tiny degrees--sometimes i remember so hard and fast, so far-flung, as if i were made of tiny pinpoints of your light, as if i were a constellation arced over a horizon defined by the gravity of you, bent around you, nothing but the atmosphere
of what drew toward you
you were the longed-for--you were the light
the light called the day
the death of that longing was the dark
the darkness called night
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