A new day a new, month, nothing changes, not even yet the
leaves, the Tuesday ritual and the big brown eyes, or the boss who wants to
know what I am up to, the girl who sits across the table for me but avoids my
gaze, I keep hoping change will come with a change of day or week or month or
year; it never does; I keep looking for the pot of gold at the end of the
rainbow when I can't even find the rainbow, she with her slanted mouth and slim
structure, making it impossible to find peace even after these few months of
truce; it is like a cold war, the absence of conflict does not guarantee peace,
only suspension of hostility, which must break out again at any moment with the
least provocation, all sides armed to the teeth in case it does, too soon for
the ghost to appear and still I feel haunted, too late to take back things I
said or did, merely too live with them
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