Parasitic mind,
hollowed out by heavy hands.
Suppression guiding the grace of her movements.
Relief at the death of Love.
Freedom is an infinite and passionate virus.
Victory in the eyes of a woman.
For she did not always love him.
But love herself, she did.
And she could see the space between the faces
that had always been there.
And the space between her finger and the page,
had grown.
Like the gap between what is and what was.
She holds him in her memory,
tucked between the folds,
and he is lost.
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