she told me once
that I would be like the guy
in the cheever
story, swimming across the county,
going from pool to pool
as the seasons changed
from spring to summer
into the chill of fall.
she said that i'd be standing
at the window
as the leaves fell,
shivering, peering in
at an empty house, wondering
what happened, where everyone
had gone.
how strange it must be to
be always wrong.
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