Belong with

I should run away when
I have time to go.
Now I can see myself
in the distance
afraid of being what
it is.
I look for what
I used to be
and all I can find
is a broken us
made with all it is not:
the lovely kisses
that anybody gave to me,
the fiction of our arms
trying to catch the world,
my cold hands,
my dry skin,
autumn rain
which never begins.

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