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My body, now that we will not be traveling together much longer

I begin to feel a new tenderness toward you, very raw and unfamiliar,

like what I remember of love when I was young —

love that was so often foolish in its objectives

but never in its choices, its intensities

Too much demanded in advance, too much that could not be promised —

My soul has been so fearful, so violent;

forgive its brutality.

As though it were that soul, my hand moves over you cautiously,

not wishing to give offense

but eager, finally, to achieve expression as substance:

it is not the earth I will miss,

it is you I will miss.

- Louise Glück

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