You are tall, sculpted, quiet, elegant,

perfect

personally touched by God;

with crystalline mind, playful spirit

impossible outside a dream, with

black-hole magnetism, yet

distant from orbiting admirers

near but not close,

so I wait, wondering

how it feels to be you, inside your soul,

behind your face, long-buried

lies fractured trust/betrayal/loss;

penetrating trauma healed into

callus of quiet resignation,

so you cry, softly.

Now recovered: wary, heavily armored

once naive, now cynical;

innocence scorned/burned/used/gone.

no way back – no way out,

so you write, soaring frail lines of hope and despair.

I watch, want to help, to approach,

to say “I see your pain, know your heart,” but

your fortress is thick and high, impervious.

And, you just don’t need another relationship,

so I read, and imagine being you.

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