When I left, the weight that pressed, made its absence known

Maybe my presence prevented your appreciation and during my stay it depreciated until our bond disintegrated and all that’s left is lamentation..

What is the currency of casual conversation? ..turned vile and depreciating.

To respect you,is to lose me, never knowing where your fuse is and hoping to GOD I won’t be.

I refrain from telling my truth

fearing looks of derision from people

who never met Stockholm

Reassembled my genes to be less of a jest

And yet

leaving has left me weaker and stronger than I have ever been

To authentically fall…

getting hurt is always an option

I just wish you chose different.

Or just

Not me, at all.


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