Who is it ?

What is it that I adored ? Who did I love ?
What did I miss when it was gone ?
The form ? I so willingly buried that – and deny it now.
What is the essence of us ?
Is it as it lives in others ?
Do I only connect a part of me that I imagine to be the object of my affection, and cause of grieving ?
Will it always be a part of me ?

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