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I watched a video about how breeders
keep the female mantis from killing the male.
Read a book that claimed
most women fall back in love
in the seventh year of marriage.
Both were related—
but missed the point.
I looked for myself in the mirror.
The person I was is gone.
Gone. Gone.
I searched your face for you.
The person you were was gone.
Gone. Gone.
What remained? Just us.
Us.
Us.
Us. Now.
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