there are no more moments alone

and when the time comes I hug first JH and then WB, and he walks behind me and wraps his arms and we prove we are still fluid; he lifts me up and backwards with a huge closed-mouth smile and I squeal, laugh, crinkling my eyes as JH looks on; it’s a pact: somehow both an acknowledgement and a denial of the physical closeness and the end of its meaning; and then he is gone, they are both gone, rendered equal in the growing distance that we know we will always carry, that distance that nullifies, must nullify, any lingering spirit; it is both a curse and a blessing: there is something here, and yet we cannot work, would not have worked; these we both know


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