Same, same, same him
Twelve years
TWELVE.
Years.
And nothing to compare it to
Twelve years ago I was a child
Maybe
Maybe this is it
Better than anything anyone ever had
Better than nothing
Maybe
Maybe not
The thing that comforts me
The thing that torments me
Is that it doesn't matter
It is worth mentioning:
he has not punched me in my smart mouth
and I have not smothered him mid-snore.
Not once
In TWELVE years
So, maybe.
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