Borrowed

The more I read and watch and listen
I realise
That everything I loved about you
You borrowed from something else.
The way you spoke
You thought
You loved,
None of it was you.
And now I’m quite sure
That I never actually met you
At all.
I wonder
If you will ever return the qualities you borrowed
And passed off as your own,
And if you’ll begin to live life
As yourself,
Or will you always hide
Behind a borrowed existence?

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