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Of the space between us. The green patina of sarcasm. Reduced to a mere photograph. Why did you build that bomb. The one that divided us. A mushroom cloud of discontent. Turning two into too many nights. Alone and cold in the dark. I tried to seek a sign up above. Past an endless sky without light. Finally I ask myself am I the one. Am I jealous of the space between us. Of the fragile photograph kept under glass. Was it me who built that bomb.