My girlfriends would have said,

I know he's a jerk, but he is good-looking,

wouldn't you go out with him 

just once,

and his friends would've said,

Would ya poke her,

and they would've laughed when he said,


if she asked me nice,

and our worlds would've barely touched

and we wouldn't have passed each other often in the halls,

and we wouldn't have thought about each other

except at times, when we passed too closely in the halls,

and even then, neither of us

would've thought about the other

past the moment.


He and I were born the same year,

we both had parents who never divorced 

and should have,

we both watched “The Simpsons”, 

and watched the Wall come down.


He and I should forever be divided,

and yet,

like a girl in love,

every day, for months,

I thought about this man,

and talked about this man incessantly 

like a girl in love,

and pored over his picture 

and bored my friends

and hunted this man's soul

as if I were a girl in love,

but I am not—

a girl in love.


I am told by some 

that forgiveness isn't necessary here,


mere survival,

is counted as a win.


But I am told by others,

as we look into the abyss

so the abyss looks into us.


Now I think

if he should find himself, in turn, 

the violated one,

and I would not fight as hard for him 

as for myself,

then this matter of forgiveness—


is a dodge.

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