You claimed
that your mother
was a gypsy
while you were young.
You told me stories
from your adventures
with her and offered up
the fears instilled
within you by
your father.
You let me know
more about you
than anyone else
ever would.
Then you left
without any
sort of warning.
At least I know
where you got
that from.
I love those
gypsy ties
of yours.
And it's comforting
to think that you
won't be back,
prepared to deepen
these elaborate cuts
decorating my soul.
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