His heart is an aching memory
A will never be
That barely was
But still is
He is mine
And I am his
Even if he does not exist
Or choose to live In this space and time
I will make rhyme to his being
Seeing
No other way to bring him into my reality
Happily
I bear the hurt of his absence
Rather than revel in the joy of
A reasonable facsimile
I will only ever be
His
And he will be mine
And he is coming…
He is coming…
In due time.

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A Mishunda Mathis Original