There she is, glimpsed onscreen again
(after how many years?) among
the even-more-famous – beautiful as ever,
though aged. I fight the almost irresistible
urge to name-drop: ‘Last time I saw X
in person, was at a birthday party for Y’
(another Name) ‘where she cut me dead.’
She had been through tragedy by then. More
than one. A confidante once, perhaps I became
too much a reminder old, private sorrows?
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