So many answers to the one question,
diffuse tiny quarrels. Unlove. Was it
ok to’ve learned to love (and take pop songs)
from those I'd spurned? Passing phantoms on the
road home of onetime partners wronged: I was
prickly, yes, callous and petty (sorry)
and nearly cried for what I'd whispered once
but the wishful welling lessened, smushed in
by blocky fingers, transposed into a
blunt depression. Fooled into believing
this unbearable fall was just a song
one couldn’t listen to except alone
that only meant something to someone else,
I wasn’t ever really cool at all.
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