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I Cried for the Invisible
When things were different, i lay there for long hours, my face to the wall, blank my eyes left me. And because language is the immaterial, i never could speak about the missing. So perhaps i cried for the invisible, what i could not see. Doubly, what is it to wish for the absence of nothing? There at the breakfast table, as an adult, wondering what to talk about, if he liked my cooking, pushing the invisible to the plate's edge,. I looked up to see he hadn't sneezed. He was crying. Didn't recognize the symptoms. When i heard him say, i'm sorry. I wasn't there? Sorry for many