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Monday, January 26, 2015

In Retrospect

We were told: Write about what you know, and I realize, beneath my denial, that what I know is you.

And this:

You will never recognize yourself in my words, no matter how well I describe you, because who I wrote about is the you I have embellished. I had fallen in love with my made-up you, only I didn't know then. Imagine my heartbreak when the smoke cleared and I was left facing a stranger. All this time, I made you up. And I fooled myself.

Know then, that I have written about you, but it wasn't you.

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