The more you grow my smile

with yours,

the wider you stretch the wound

that will leave a scar,

the day you stop being here,

smiling –

– making me smile.


I’ll have to learn how once more,

to mean it

 after a long procession of empty curves

when everyone asks

if I’m okay

not seeing my smile,

for you are not here to shape it.


But I promise,

always you will see me smile

since you will only ever not

when you are here no longer

to see me stung,

that scar forever there,

in place of you.



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