Loves die. People die.
I am pragmatic, they tell me.
Robbing me of the wish
that it won’t happen to me.
I am strong, they remind me.
Not allowing me to cower
and tremble in his arms.
I am wise, they tell me.
I should not expect them
to calm my worries.
I sit alone in a room;
the solace I allow me
is endless cups of tea.
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