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13:13 - Jan. 14, 2004
He is not
He is not the man I will kiss. He is not the man I will wake up next to, admiring his beautiful smile. His is the hair I will not rub my hand over. His is the crumpled t-shirt I will not iron. The soft skin of his stomach I will never feel. Those bee sting lips will never touch mine. That affable nature is not going to be in the same private room with me, charging the air with unspoken, unuttered emotion. Those hands I will not hold. That neck I will not pepper with tiny pecks of kisses. He will not hold my hair when I throw up. I will not make him a cup of tea in bed in the morning. His will not be the face I fall asleep next to, the face I seek in a crowd. His emails I will not print out and keep in a box with other keepsakes, ticket stubs from films we will not see together, corks from champagne we never drank, Valentine Cards never written or sent. He is not the one I will pledge myself to, give myself over to in entirety.

He is the one I will wonder about sometimes.

 

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