a reckless behavior on the streetside,
the dream boy asks if she's being a bitch.
The slack tightens for a small minute
and she almost walked with him all the way,
to that bus stop reluctantly.
A chilling look of indignation,
an embarrasing accusation
he never actually thought, only read before,
That outrage building inside his hollow frame
could only be cooled by her
look of gold.
A second (or third) kiss,
that he misses too too much,
before he started back home,
twiddling his thumbs,
steadily stitching his promises back together.
That was I:
I had lost a bit of me,
but gained a bit of you,
and I carry it with me;
I hope you do.
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