Until Us

The first was a tragedy
I unintentionally or intentionally killed a man
And heard for years he remained heavily unable
As I waded through, gathered up, and tried to hold together
Too many pieces of a false self, of a false, weak world
Unable to know anything of love

The second was less tragic and smaller
Hurt is easier to hold than hurting
Still weak, my weakness spread
Consuming me, consuming him
And in the end my weakness won, proving stronger

The third was the smallest
Though a nobler failure, I tried
And in trying saw myself
That weak, needing, and empty part of myself, in him
And began finally, to understand.

Then this, this fourth and perfect time
The first really, and the last
It was never love I was searching for, or fighting toward
All time and love and pain before
Was my deepest self, my strongest self
Struggling to find us

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