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The realisation hit me.
Well, crept up upon me,
It’s stealth surprising.
It appeared, just beyond my shoulder,
Just out of reach.
And then it was there,
Demanding to be noticed.
Pay attention, it said,
Look at me,
Look At Me.

So, I looked at you.
Looked At You.
You were there,
Had always been there,
But I hadn’t noticed,
Didn’t want to,
Didn’t want to see,
To see you,
You there,
Looking at me,
Paying me attention,
Regarding me,
Seeing me.

There’s a pain there,
It’s hidden, I’ve buried it:
Trying to protect myself,
From history repeating itself;
Adding layers, nuance and reason;
Modes of being and lifestyle;
Filling up the spaces,
Numbing the frightened traces of a former child sat with open arms, offering.

But you are not history.
You are you.
Just you.

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