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(For Lacan)
I may only pretend
As if I really love you,
Rather just holding an illusion,
Dreaming and eroticizing your shadow
In the function of libido.
I am supposed to know
The meaning of love,
My real emotion and desire,
Stretch out their boundaries
And working in mist.
I am no longer an individual,
Neither free from interactivity
Nor from interpassive imprinting
To be supposed to believe
A presupposed meaning.
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