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I’m trying to hold onto every little piece of you I caught in my net, but I guess I’m just not strong enough. Just when I’m starting to take it all in, my muscles start to give out and you start to slip away like sand…

For that brief moment you were entirely mine. You trusted me with everything, I was all you had. For that short lifespan I was your best and only confidante. There were those before me and even those after me, but there wasn’t another like me. But for you every other is like me. In the end we’re all replaceable, dispensable.

For that heartbeat you gave me every bone of your body, every sweat of every pore. Every tear you cried was in my presence, every word spoken for my ears. You made me feel like king of the world, and when I deposed myself from my own throne, you effortlessly found another king to replace me. Now I watch your thriving kingdom from a distance, standing behind the banyan tree in tattered clothes with no shoes to save my feet from pebbles strewn in my path.

Now you tell him everything, as freely as you once told me. The faces changed. The bodies changed. Voices, odors, tendencies and temperaments all changed. But you remain the same, and what he means to you remained the same as what I meant to you.

There was a time when I was in you, in your world. I met your associates and became enmeshed in your social web. But just as easily as you took me in you threw me out. I asked for release and you kindly gave it. The web of my life was empty then and barren now. You were in it, I pushed you out, now it’s vacuous again. You’re never searching and it’s always full; I’m always searching but I never find. Now I’m hungry both in the heart and the stomach, when at least then I had the grace of real food to carry me over. You were like fine wine for my heart, a luxury that, however much I cherished, still didn’t quench my thirst for water.

He drinks your precious wine and worships it too. While I don’t long for the taste of you (that would be fatally ironic), I still wonder how it tastes for you to be had by him, or simply any other than me. Isn’t the connoisseur as necessary and distinguished as the wine? Didn’t I, by ejecting you, discard you into oblivion, while raising myself to the level of puppet master? I am the grand puppet master of nothing but my own misery, and because the thought is too sharp to bear the sting, I divine intricate destinies for you and me and all that ever was, is, and will be.

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