The Darkroom
im WK
If I am the one who is said to be
alive, and you the other; how come it's me
who ends up trailing along behind
as you stride ahead, humming
to yourself, crossing from shade to shadow?
Every morning I wake
longing for you to long for me again;
to dawdle, to loiter, and then - to hell
with the cost, I say - look back.
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