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Letter To An Old Love
You still play with your hair
when unsure of what to do with your hands
And though the smiles you give me now
are more inquisitive and abashed
than romantic
I can’t help but feel like we share
something behind them
And you still crinkle your nose
when you laugh
and use words longer and older
than the Bayeux Tapestry
You still lean forward when being attentive
And run away when you see something
you’re not prepared for
if only to gain a few seconds
to collect yourself
You still talk about pop culture
as if it were your own invention
and cling to your pockets
for dear life
You still walk in straight lines
and communicate so faintly
that communication itself
might be mistaken for a mistake
You’re still you.
Am I still me?
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