he told me he was autumn
yet I didn't see this coming.
a few months and fleeting, like the fall
he left me with the cold of winter
and gave me our dying in spring.
But me, I am not a metaphor for anything.
I come as I am.
The truth is, my love
was spread thin between us
and his heart couldn't quite go the distance.
So I know now
That our fingers did not link
to make a perfect hand-holding whole;
Neither were we the missing
half of the other's soul. We shared
a need to be needed,
and that was all.
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