Loss of sight.


The love between two people,
nothing alike,
nothing in common other than
a love
formed through fear
of not being together.
So that in the future, you can remember that
being together was lonely,
but also just enough
so the loneliness didn't
hang
like your thoughts on life and death
when you step outside for a cigarette.
He hates you and your cigarettes, and you will die
lonely.
You will die rough hand in soft hand,
tool-baring hand in dish-washing hand,
idolized by the friends you knew well enough to
remain distant from.
And you will die happy that you are not alone,
even if that means being lonely.

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