the way a bad catholic
carries a crucifix:
as proof
that, once, you believed
and, now, to remind you
to keep up the charade.
Our bond became,
a long time ago, more
imagined, less
remembered, and now,
it seems, only I know
the honest truth. Because I am
that boy, no longer, whose
smile shone brightly only
for you and, regrettably, whose
happiness was contingent only
upon your happiness
as I imagine it is still
for the imagined me
who, because he must,
endures the misery
of your imagined life
as he dreams of being—
me.
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