Your hands dance the air
as you sit across the table
describing an event we shared
decades ago in our youth.
We are both there as before;
a sequence of events similar
enough to be the same events;
yet, causality and context shift.
Like Wittgenstein, it dawns
on me slowly that the story
you are telling is not the one
I have told about love’s loss.
You ask why I’m crying;
I realize you never knew.
(July 15, 2026)
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