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From every love I have lost, I have gained.

At the edge of the lost place, I have risen from the pavement of my heartbreak.

For every thing dear to my own, I have found newer, smaller, dearest hearts.

For this I am grateful.

To this I belong.

For them I long no longer.

From the first who left me, I have innocence and young love.

I was given resilience and humor in friendship.

From the next, the second, the longest, the deepest, the one who made my chest heavy with the weight of emotion and solitude, I have my stories.

I gained my bitter spirit and the sourness of betrayal.

But I am never to forget that I have strength, worth, truth, beauty, and obscurity of my expressions.

For these, I will never look to return.

They are mine now.

They were given to me as backhanded gifts, but I have taken them just the same.

And now I belong to them and they belong to me.

From the third, never my last, never my truest, never my friend, I have music.

I have songs that were never mine before but are now residents of my heart forever.

Just like the pain of my loss.

My third loss.

My own fault, my own fault.

But I cannot forget the step toward the attic of this house I took, a step I never even touched before, a step I ran past superstitiously, religiously, timidly.

The step and I aren’t friends.

We are acquaintances, however unhappy.

The only way to go is up from here.

Another thing I learned from this nearest lost one.

For these things I gained, I can never be sorry.

I can never regret.

It is only too easy to run away from the stairs.

The path away is worn with my footprints and dips where I have stepped the deepest.

But for this path I cannot be unhappy either.

It is my home.

For my life, for my love, for my heart, for my home, I am always grateful.

Always and forever.

This poem is about: 
Me

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