Before we left the house, I found 
in the pocket of your coat a mint, 
wrapping still intact. I said to the 
back yard, “Did you leave this for 
me because I needed a sweet taste 
in my mouth?” But there was no 
answer, and I don’t like peppermint 
unless I am desperate, the difficult 
one, the one who remembers, whom 
no one wants around. You never 
forgave me for ruining your plans, 
though once you said I was family too.  

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