Unfinished

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17

you are not just poetry
you are the reason
language learned how to ache
before you
words were only shapes
but you
you carved meaning into me
until I could feel
every syllable bleeding
I do not write you
I unravel into you
every line returns
to your name
you are the unfinished sentence
I am still becoming
and still
I return to you
like breath
the only language
I know how to live in

17 thoughts on “Unfinished”

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