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A lot of what you now call ours was mine – Traif, East River State Park, the scent you may not have found if I didn’t lead you to it. You tried on all of my best and hated me when it didn’t fit. Shamed my worst because it didn’t serve you. And I let you. I stayed quiet, mostly. I shared, I opened, I gave direction to my power source and I stood still watching you drain it; in crowded rooms over drinks and on our couch in the dark. And then I’d soothe your frustrations while I tried to reboot, constantly struggling to fill my glass as quick as you drank it down. What was mine was yours and what was yours was yours and I guess the blame is ours to share.



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