You’ve known me all these years, and seen
The gray parts getting bigger;
You’ve seen my skin grow slacker,
With more lines

And yet, I see you smile at me
As though I was still worthy,
Or really, ever had been,
Of your love.

But every mystery in life
Is not about a murder,
And every unexplainable
Is not in science labs,

But sometimes, just in common homes,
With people, on a sofa,
In seeing value where
Nobody else would.

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