i came from distance, a memory
of broken fire and disfigured
water, bearing buried
treasures i sought for your
seeking.
and having uncovered
what was there
you found your bitter tongue,
sliver of your own pain
you cast upon my suffering's
proliferation.
your contempt has freed me
of my own conceits, yet
i still hold my hurt, this
heart of mine. only mine
and not for you. i remain,
facing my own path with certainty.
of yours, i can not say
for certain, only:
go, and seek not what i
grow into, as i unfold,
away from you. leave
me no clouded memory, only
the feeling of your departing
silently.
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