The air I have breathed out has been taken someplace north easterly,
carried along by the wind.
Someone I may never know breathes me in, as I breath in another.
Perhaps I inhale a friend or enemy.
Perhaps I inhale a past love, or someone new who returns not my love.
How strange that tomorrow we will act as if nothing has happened,
after such intimacy.
I will go on being ignored by him,
and cursing at them,
for they are still my enemy and you still refuse me your love.
matthew schiavello 2011
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