I look at you in the photos strung on my wall,
and wonder what you were thinking then.
you look different in every picture,
you dance and shapeshift across the room,
and I realise I’ll never understand your eyes,
or your lips.
I’ve become familiar to your face, your presence,
but it will never feel quite right,
so every night before I go to sleep,
i stare at you.
just to make sure you’re real,
beacause im convinced I’m not.

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