With a kiss.
The day we met
Was one year from The Day he died.
We met in this same space.
This non-unique coffee cafe where everyone meets
In the guise of intimacy;
I see them, their laughter, as though it is original.
But you were the one, Original
That Certain One.
Then, we met under That Tree
One year later.
Did I meet Him or You?
Because we met in the same way, on the Same Day
And now I feel confused.
I saw you, yet I looked for him,
Then I looked for him in You,
And we planned A Future under That Tree.
But then later, I asked him to Free Me under That Tree.
And still, I ask.
There is fiction. There is life. What is the difference?
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