On migration

There is something to be said for the initial impressions on the young:

Maybe I am stuck in this mindset because of when I met you,
when I knew you,
when I loved and had you.
My bones were still soft, allowing perfect harmony
in the tug of you and the give, the bend of me.

It is an ache to return home that returns me to the ache,
the thought of you.
My nostalgia has you on call,
even when what I miss,
isn’t you at all.

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