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People always talk about the gaping hole left by a lover's absence, the emptiness that they never even knew about until someone came along and filled it. Why doesn't anyone ever guess the truth? That emptiness wasn't there before. It was carved into you by a lover who knew no other way to find a home except to lodge somewhere inside of you, pushing other things out of the way to make room. Maybe you helped them, shoving kidneys down and lungs up, saying "Don't worry, honey, I can breathe fine!" Maybe you did it together, each of you making nests inside your hearts with feathers pulled from your breast; tiny, warm places, bald spots on your chests.

I used to think that after you died you would get to see yourself through the eyes of everyone you had ever interacted with, and that depending on your behavior this could be heaven or hell.

Imagine how beautiful you are in the eyes of each of your lovers, and how entirely different.