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by Katherine Hameetman

How can I tell you about the things

that were maybe


to you but meant


to me, how you kept me going

two weeks for three years,

so for you I write this,

you already know

how we were both killed in the game,

you already know how we leaned back,

looking up at the lights that we

pretended not to be

fluorescent bulbs brought to life

by electric current but thought

that by looking at them through half-closed,

watery eyes we could turn them into stars,

you already know how I had missed you

to the point of beyond missing,

how you became just another shadow

living out solidity upon sacred ground - 

I tried to rip you out of my memory.

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