‘We who were loved will never unlive that crippling fever.’ – Adrienne Rich

I can’t find the beginning or the end of you, me, we. The lines become hazy, and I can’t separate, or disentangle from them. I dissolve somewhere between those lines.

Yes,

I think I love you the way I love the rain, the way I love the ocean and the darkening sky, and the first frost of winter escaping from my mouth.

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