as i sit here, searching frantically
to find remanents of you, i realize, i am not a romantic
i collect things
i dont really love anyone
other than myself
but not the superficial myself
its the deep deep down self i love
romance
myself
but i had never loved anyone, except when i left/leave them
upon departure and thereafter i find in history all the love i can contain
and to me, the self-loving self i say
how can Christ live in this crumbing house
so now i'm off to find Him on the street

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