For the price of a book

I feel so alone
for people
alone for the loss
and the empty gains
of what was hoped
to be love,
but sits
in differentiation
from what was
the expectation,
where the joys
of living
and the happiness
of two
has receded,
against the tender
movements
of caring,
the breath against
the other
when two become one
and the union
complete,
all gone now
nothing more
than a turning page
the value as little
or less
as such.

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