There were so many things I wanted to tell you.Or rather, I wished to have things that I wanted to tell you.What a thing, to be with you and haveno words for it. What a thing,to be outcast like that.And then everything unfastened.It was like something was always dissolvinginside you—Already it's hard to rememberhow you used to comb your hair or how youtilted your broad face in green shade.Now what seas, what meaningscan I place in you?
-Mary Szybist
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