The thing about me is that I would have waited.
At least a month.
Maybe a year.
Possibly ten.
The thing about you is you never stopped searching.
Not even for that long.
I was never surprised
when you tried to cram everything you were looking for
into a cranium attached to some asshole.
You would open them up, spill all of your secrets inside -
only for their bodies to reject you like a bad drug.
My contents rested openly visible on a shelf collecting dust,
but you never explored them for fear that you might like what you found.
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