What it Was

You might as well
let her call it love.
It was selfless and kind.
She would have given him
anything he wanted,
which is exactly
what she did.
She loved how
he loved his cats,
and his boat
out in that warm blue water,
and she smiled
when she thought of how
he waited so patiently
for the ice
and white snow
of winter.
Music, almost,
was everything,
and books that explained him
to himself
were everything else.
And because she knew him
so well,
she knew he wanted
nothing more
than to be imagined
instead of held
or touched
or believed
when it was his turn
to explain
what is so often mistaken
for love.


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