tell me

tell me again
if you even can
what is the point
of all of this,
if not to love
and to grow
and to be more
than I was before

what is the point
of a life
grossly endured,
of a being
crisply cut
into banal lines
constituting little more
than rejected dreams

I believed once
in stars
that fell for only me,
in laughter
that cradled
my most fervent
ingenuous hopes
of a life fulfilled

tell me please
that there
is yet more
than this me alone,
because without you—
without us—
I don’t believe that I
could endure

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