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look, it happened like this.

you were holding a child's telescope and a book on galileo.
i was holding a grudge against men and fresh flowers.

you called it fate, and it wasn't until years later that i found out you didn't even believe in fate. you just believed in the curve of my spine and the way i tucked my feet beneath me in the chair.

within an hour of meeting you i loved you.
i wanted to tell you my middle name. i wanted to tell you about how i sprained my wrists seven times. i wanted to tell you stories about orion and andromeda, but it was cloudy and your eyes were asking for more than constellations.

---

look, we were pretty happy for a long time.

you counted the passing of time in seasons, even though i preferred your inhalations to timepieces. autumn, winter, spring, summer, autumn, winter.

the first time it snowed while we were together you pranced around in it barefoot, oblivious to everything but the suffocating white.

"come on," you called, "the snow is almost as beautiful as you!" but i just shook my head and retreated to the kitchen. it melted the next morning, before i had a chance to make a single footprint in it.

snow reminds me that everything beautiful will leave in the end.
i hate snow.

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look, as the years passed you became more out of focus, a faded photograph.
you were grinning, fiddling with a broken telescope.
you were only eyes, bright hazel, half closed.
you were gone.

(please, come back to me).

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look, i guess what i am saying is if you truly love someone, don't ever tell them that they are special and different.
it will hurt all the more when it turns out they aren't.

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