Exception

I have started and stopped,
written and erased and thought
to contemplate what it was
or what it is, I have not been
able to say for certain, except
this exception of you keeps
coming back for some sort of
explanation. For the undoing
of me, where my composure
comes unraveling in the presence
of you, I felt something. I start,
I stop, I write, erase, till find
the right word that can tell me.

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