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What happened to you?
Where did you go? We could have conquered the world, if our aspirations exceeded a quality muffin. We could have put Alexander to shame. And we would have been compassionate monarchs, beloved by all until our follicles failed and faded. In the mire of my meltdown, as I struggled to stay afloat, You pulled me from the quicksand and set me on stable ground. And you don’t know How much that meant. And you cannot fathom The depths of the disasters you averted. On the road to St. Louis, we talked without stopping. I’d never done that before. I’ve never done that since. I miss that. We’ve crossed the country, gallivanted the globe, Packed plates at 2 AM for tickets that never coalesced. Groggy grapes, bleary baguettes, and a nice hard cheese-- Covent Garden makes an unconventional picnic plot, But our attitude is odd, Made for midnights in a shoebox cinema, For mech suits and movie monsters, mild-mannered but unmovable. And then the bottom dropped out and you turned away. For your own good, you say, and I trust that. And even though you left, Though the A-shaped altar remains unadorned with your likeness, Your silhouette still points the way, A beacon even in your vacancy.
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