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Something Made Up

He looks beyond me,

am I the ghost?

And speaks of

world affairs and Clinton,

something about Libya

and I could not care less.

Do I exist? And

do I exist entirely?

A simple nod of the head confirms

that he’s tired

and it’s time to go,

it has been less than ten minutes

and I tell him okay and

goodnight.

He has told me to stop saying

“Love You,” before bed

so I have done just that

—I have stopped loving

him.

 
 
 

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