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A Country With Your Name

Somewhere inside me there is an entire country named after you. Doors to rooms I built into the sides of mountains. My ribs – that tender mountain range of muscle and bone that still holds the memory of us. I don’t remember; did we mark the exits? I cannot seem to leave. It’s been four years since I explored the borders of our little country. I still live in the home we built using muscle, bone, and the beat of something ancient. I want to inhabit the people we were in the beginning, when we believed that what we had was rare. You live somewhere else now. And I am still stuck in a country with your name.