or rather, once,
i was given the chance
instead i buried my face, afraid to water
a different kind of spout
shielded by a smile
and my age
i left and didn't look back
(though i do look back
daily)
his mother hates to say goodbye
in fact she refuses it at all
this time i know i won't say it
again
not because i am afraid of
the void
but because i know
it will follow me
or maybe because
its already
gone
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