All I See

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One year later
and it still hurts,
I’m still crying.
A girlfriend told me
My sister grieved for eight years.
Do I have seven left to go?
I gather proof of their togetherness;
each image I see
drives the knife in deeper.
Friends ask me
Are you sure you want to see this stuff?
It’s for my attorney, I answer.
But there’s a part of me,
beyond lawyers
and terms like adultery,
who just wants to see.
I want to see how he spends his time,
the person he has become,
the images he chooses to share
with the world,
or at least the part of the world
he hasn’t blocked.
I’m on the outside looking in,
knocking at the door,
searching for a new sense of belonging.
I thought he was the door
to love, stability, family, connection.
I thought he was my savior.
But now I look up,
and I can’t see him anymore.
I look up,
and all I see is my reflection.

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