This tangle of voices won't
let me go -- all headaches and noir.
Fortunately, nothing is isolated, tangents aside.
Even the whispers make room. Even the yelling
streams over,
weaves under and over,
carries over
to make a connection.
Still, you won't even look at me.
Collected, we've sewn a tapestry of goodbyes so tender
it was never meant to hold together.
I'm not aloof; I just trip through shyly.
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