was not enough to keep you. I borrowed you and you gave yourself freely during the borrowing— a book whose author did not finish writing you. This is how it is: I miss you. I try to speak to you when you enter my dreams. So, can you hear me when I call for you—a bird song, my one wing—half a wing—flapping? Now, I want to be deaf. Now, my voice is an ambulance. Now, I am a siren calling for you.
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