when familiarity turns
voice into white
noise,
when every opinion
is taken as criticism
and every compliment
as apology?
Is it still called
love
when support
is sought from sources
distant
that was once
breath's breadth
away?
Is it still
called love when scores
are kept and bottom
lines drawn in shifting sands,
when the sound
of one more promise
draws not hope
but fear?
Is it
still called love?
Is it?
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